Tempting Destiny
by PertPeeve
Summary: The tragedy of losing two dear friends puts Merlin in doubt of his decisions, his magic, and his destiny.  Bromance and eventual Merlin whump.
1. Chapter 1

The fleeting echoes of the faceless spirits were still melting into darkness as his own scream echoed off the high stone walls. Merlin stood there in disbelief, heart thumping, head spinning. He had just worked up the courage to give his life to protect Arthur, to step through that sundered vale to whatever awaited him on the other side. His hands were sweating, his body trembling, but his resolve had been firm. It was his _destiny_. And then it had all been over. Suddenly and inexplicably, Lancelot had stepped out from behind that grinning gatekeeper, and an entirely different sort of fear had gripped him.

As much as he'd wanted to rush forward and stop the knight from what he intended to do, Merlin's body had been paralyzed. Too much had happened all at once, and his brain struggled to keep up. As the man he'd trusted with his greatest secret shared one last smile before plunging into the abyss, Merlin felt the scream rise in his throat. It came out as less a word and more a simple surge of emotion.

"_NOOO!_"

His eyes clouded with tears. The trembling worsened. He could only stare.

"No!"

He couldn't be sure how long he'd stood there. The total silence that followed allowed for time to pass unchecked. No thoughts came to his mind, he forgot to breath; he wasn't certain that his heart was still beating. It wasn't until one of the two bodies behind him began to stir that Merlin saw a reason to permit the world to keep turning.

Arthur had propped himself up on his elbows, his eyes staring at the place that had housed the rift moments before. His brows furrowed.

"What happened?" He followed the misty darkness to the lone figure still standing. "Merlin?"

The young warlock was breathing now, unsteadily as he fought to control the sobs. For a moment he said nothing. The prince continued to stare.

"Merlin?"

His manservant sniffed, gathered his courage, and took a few tentative steps forward. Swiping at his eyes with a sleeve, he all but fell to his knees. "Are... are you all right, sire?"

Gwaine ushered a groan and shifted in the dirt. Arthur's expression was alternating between concern and irritation. "Merlin. What happened?"

The dark-haired boy made an attempt to check on Arthur's condition, but a large hand swatted him away. He averted his gaze and set to rocking back and forth on his knees. What was he supposed to say? It had all gone wrong. Merlin opened his mouth, but the words wouldn't come. His voice felt caught in his throat.

Gwaine's voice rose from over his shoulder.

"Where's Lancelot?"

* * *

><p>The ride back to Camelot had so far been a silent and miserable one. No one, not even Gwaine, could find any words to soothe the pain they were all feeling. With the exception of a few muttered comments about rest stops, the odd sound in the forest, or their traveling route, not a word was spoken between them for hours on end. Arthur took up the lead, Sir Leon second, while Merlin trailed behind all of them, his head bowed low. He was no longer blank with shock. Now his mind was overwhelmed with painful thoughts and nagging regret. Once again in his duty to protect his secret and assure Arthur's safety, another life had been lost; another life that had meant so much to him. It seemed to Merlin that as soon as he was blessed with the chance to share his secret, as soon as he found a kindred spirit or an open mind willing to listen and offer guidance, that person was snatched away. The thought that the fearful words he had confided to Lancelot might have driven the man to take his place made Merlin's stomach turn.<p>

It was the night of their second day of traveling when Gwaine broke the silence.

"Well I guess it worked, anyway. No screams for two nights. No one else has turned into a snowman."

Percival and Elyan issued smiles. Gwaine sat opposite them and began to remove his boot. The smiles faded.

They had stopped for the night in the woods, feeling safe enough now to sleep under the trees rather than holed up in an old castle. A large fire burned at the center of their group as they shared what remained of their provisions.

"They're going to be singing in the streets when we get back," Elyan said.

Leon took a sip of water. "More than likely, and for a while to come."

"It doesn't seem right."

Gwaine turned his drying sock. "He did it so they could sing in the streets again, mate."

"They're going to be drinking and dancing. They'll have no idea what truly happened. It just doesn't seem right."

Arthur, standing at the edge of the clearing, spoke up as he stared into the darkness at nothing in particular. "There will be a ceremony. He will be remembered forever for what he did. I'll make certain everyone knows of his sacrifice."

Gwaine nodded. "Right, see? So let them dance in his name. Merlin said he went in smiling, right Merlin?"

He strained to see where the young man had gone. The others tensed when Gwaine appeared unable to immediately locate the servant. Arthur spotted him just out of the light, sitting against the trunk of a tree. The knights, relieved, went back to their silent pondering. It was a bittersweet moment to feel comforted that Merlin could sit in the shadows during the night and need not fear an icy attack from the Dorocha. Arthur considered leaving him there to his thoughts, but it was clear that Merlin was suffering worse than the rest of them. The prince could only assume it was because Merlin wasn't trained for the oft grisly repercussions of battle. The death of anyone always hit the young man particularly hard, and it was no secret that Lancelot and Merlin had been good friends.

Feeling the need to do something helpful, the prince left his post and approached his servant.

"Come get something to eat, Merlin."

His servant didn't look up. For a moment Arthur wondered if he might have just succumbed to exhaustion. He wouldn't have blamed him. It wasn't a few days ago that Merlin had been inches from death.

"Merlin, there's bread and cheese and some fruit I think. Come over by the fire," he stopped himself before he could add the words 'you'll freeze over here'. Arthur cleared his throat instead.

The noise roused Merlin from his thoughts. "Hm? Oh, I'm not hungry. Thanks Arthur."

_Thanks Arthur?_ The prince grimaced at the respectful reply, but didn't have the heart to tease the boy for it. He felt like pressing the issue. Merlin hadn't had but a few mouthfuls of food since leaving the Isle of the Blessed, but they were all grieving in their own way. Given time, the young man's wounds would heal, and he'd be back to bumbling around neglecting his chores and smiling that idiot grin of his.

He'd be all right.

* * *

><p>As expected, Prince Arthur and his Knights of Camelot rode into the city to cheers and exuberance. Many of the refugees still had yet to leave the city, and the streets were lined on both sides with smiling people drinking, laughing, waving, and throwing flowers to their heroes. The six companions attempted to return the smiles, nodding their thanks to the grateful masses who showered them with praise. All but Merlin, who in any case had trailed far enough behind that he was hardly to be recognized as one of the returning champions.<p>

He wanted to get away from all of the noise and excitement. He would go straight back to Gaius, do what he could to avoid conversation, and collapse onto his bed. Certainly Arthur could grant him that. The prince would be needing to assemble Lord Agravaine and the council and inform them of all that had happened. He had time.

"Merlin! I think you've put your horse to sleep!"

He looked up to see that Gwaine had come back for him. The man was smiling, but there was a look of concern there too. Merlin couldn't help but smile back as he forced his horse to close the distance.

His heart lifted a little. He still had good friends around him. He had kept his secret this long, he could keep it longer. He would mourn for Lancelot for a long time, there was no doubting that. But he would survive. And in the end, he always had Gaius.

As he and Gwaine approached the castle, something was clearly amiss. Arthur and the other knights had dismounted. Guinevere was at Arthur's side, sobbing and looking fit to collapse. The prince had gone white. He turned to see Merlin approaching, and his eyes went wide. Elyan took his sister aside quickly while Leon and Percival stood shocked.

Merlin felt his heart begin to race again.

"Arthur?"

The prince was fast approaching him now, looking left and right with overwhelming unease. He gestured a servant over to deal with the horses. "Merlin, you need to come with me."

"Why? What's going on?"

Arthur all but pulled him down off of the horse, forcing the young man to follow by means of not answering his panicked inquiries.

"Arthur! Tell me what's happening!" He knew that Gwen would be heartbroken to hear of Lancelot's fate, but there was something more going on. Why had Arthur and the knights looked so horror-struck?

They entered the castle and Arthur took Merlin into the first empty chamber that he could find.

"Sit down."

Merlin shook his head. His eyes were already filling with tears at the prospect of whatever potentially terrible news Arthur had to share. Could anything really be worse than what he'd already been through? Arthur sighed. And that was when Merlin noticed that the prince's eyes had gone teary as well. The boy froze.

"Merlin... a few nights ago, Gaius—"

"No." Merlin backed away. Arthur's jaw clenched.

"He'd gone to find Gwen. There'd been some sort of attack..."

Merlin choked, doubling over. Arthur grabbed his arm. He had to get this out.

"He had probably been checking on Gwen when... the Dorocha..."

He felt Merlin shudder in his grip. The boy was shaking all over. Through clenched teeth he spoke.

"... _D-dead?_"

Arthur winced. "I'm sorry, Merlin."

It was all too much. Merlin released a strangled whimper as he became a sudden dead weight in Arthur's arms. He could hear the prince calling his name before gladly giving himself up to unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for the kind comments, everyone! I'm glad you're enjoying this so far, as I am enjoying writing it. This chapter is mostly reaction, but plot should with luck be finding its way into this story very soon. ;)**

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><p>If Arthur had been at a loss for what to say before, now a part of him wondered if he'd ever share his beloved mocking back-and-forth banter with Merlin again. Taking the boy back to Gaius's chambers after he'd collapsed would have bordered on heartless, so Arthur had found a spare bed for him in one of the guest rooms. His father would never have stood for it, but Arthur had little reason to worry about his father's opinions these days.<p>

He'd stood watch over Merlin for a short while, trying to prepare himself for the days to come. It was going to be a challenge, to say the very least. He had never met anyone as naturally kind and gentle as his manservant. Sure, they tossed insults at one another like squabbling brothers, and half the time he was certain Merlin thought he was an enormous prat, but all the same the young man made it clear enough on multiple occasions that he would lay down his life for Arthur in an instant. To be honest with himself, the prince was convinced Merlin would do the same for just about anyone to alleviate their suffering. And here he was now, his unwavering selflessness rewarded with pain Arthur could scarcely imagine.

He wondered how he himself would be taking it. To lose a close friend and then, let's face it, a father, within the course of a few short days. The prince shook the thoughts away. He was already losing his father, and the closest friend he had was, as much as he wouldn't admit so aloud, laying in the bed before him, perhaps broken beyond repair. And yet it wasn't the same. The fierce love Arthur witnessed between Merlin and Gaius, between Merlin and his friends, was something he had never quite experienced.

A quick knock was followed by the chamber doors opening.

"Sire, I apologize for intruding, but the council is waiting for you."

Arthur glanced back at Sir Leon, but the man's gaze was on Merlin. The prince smiled in a sad way. There was hardly a person in the palace who didn't care for Merlin and feel the need to protect him.

"I'll be there in a moment."

"Yes sire." Leon turned to leave.

"Sir Leon?"

"Sire?"

"Send Gwaine back here to sit with him." Arthur shifted uncomfortably. "I don't want Merlin alone when he wakes."

Leon nodded, both in obedience and in approval. He left, while Arthur continued to stand and stare. Merlin did not look peaceful in sleep. His brows were creased, his fingers clenching and unclenching. At a time like this the prince would have sent for Gaius to prepare a sleeping draught.

He sniffed. The old man had been there for as long as he could remember. A kind man, like Merlin, and one he'd often overlooked and taken for granted before Merlin had come to Camelot. He doubted they'd find a replacement with half the skill or long-life's-worth of wisdom. A replacement. Arthur rubbed his temples. He'd need to find a _replacement_.

"There you are! I've been in and out of every room in the castle looking for you." Gwaine stepped into the chamber without knocking, and rubbed his face with a smirk. "Got a couple of smacks for my trouble, but it wasn't all bad."

Arthur worked up a convincing stare of disapproval. Gwaine plodded over.

"How is he?"

"I don't know. He fainted after I told him."

"So less than good?"

Arthur didn't have patience for Gwaine's antics right now, as much as he was sure it was simply the eccentric man's way of coping. He looked him squarely in the eye.

"Watch what you say when he wakes up."

Gwaine looked injured at that. His smile faded as he brushed past the prince to take up a seat next to Merlin's bed. "I'm not a monster, Arthur."

"I know..." Arthur sighed and made for the door. Gwaine turned back to face him before the prince could get away.

"I'll let you know when he wakes."

Arthur nodded his thanks, but was still entirely uncertain of what he would do when that happened.

* * *

><p><em>Gaius entered his chambers, breathless, but he felt an instant relief to see Merlin sitting there, bathed in milky light next to the window. He slowed his approach.<em>

"_Merlin! I was so worried."_

_Merlin looked back. Gaius could see the pain on his face. "I'm sorry, Gaius."_

_The old man sidled over, taking a spot in front of his ward. He was treading carefully, but he had to ask the question he already felt he knew the answer to, if only to get the boy to open up. "Where's the girl?"_

_Merlin shook his head, the tears building. "She's gone." There was a pause as Gaius watched, his own heart breaking at Merlin's pain. "She's dead."_

_Gaius hung his head. He had every reason to tell Merlin that he knew this would happen, but he had no desire in the world to do it. Slowly, he stepped forward and pulled the skinny lad into a hug._

"_I'm sorry, Merlin. Truly I am."_

Tears were still in his eyes when Merlin woke from the sorrowful memory. His body ached. His head in particular was throbbing. He couldn't immediately recall why he felt so terrible, and half-expected to see Gaius when he opened his eyes, with that same look of fatherly concern and understanding. Instead, he saw Gwaine, who had the look of someone half-asleep and daydreaming of cheap ale and loose women.

Merlin tried to sit up, feeling utterly drained. Gwaine woke with a snort, his satisfied smile lingering a moment until he saw the young man was now conscious.

"Merlin—" he cut himself off with a sharp intake of breath.

Gwaine's expression had fallen in an instant, and it was in that moment that Merlin remembered. The sweet simplicity and ignorance of unconsciousness wavered, making way for reality to come charging in again. Merlin froze in his efforts to get up, his heart drumming against his ribs. The terrible thing Arthur had told him. It had to be a nightmare. He'd come close to losing his mentor before, but it had always worked out. Gaius had always been there for him at the end of every adventure.

"Gwaine," Merlin said, blue eyes full of fear. "Tell me it was a dream."

The man looked down at his lap. He shook his head. "It wasn't a dream, mate."

Merlin bit his lip and fell back again, the tears coming ferociously now.

"I should have been here."

Gwaine continued to shake his head. "You can't be everywhere."

"I should have saved him. I should have saved both of them!"

"Merlin, there was no way you—"

"I _could_ have, Gwaine!"

And yet again Merlin had to stop himself. To everyone but Lancelot and Gaius, Merlin was a useless servant; a cowering idiot who could always be found after a fight hiding behind a tree or passed out like a _girl_. They didn't know—they _couldn't_ know that Merlin had saved all of them more times then he cared to remember. He couldn't confess now that he had had every means of saving both Lancelot and Gaius. The bottled frustration hit him sudden and hard.

"Where did they take his body? I want to see him."

Merlin was swinging his legs over the bed and preparing to leave. Gwaine took him by the shoulders. "Come on, Merlin, you don't want to do that!"

"I do! Gwaine, please, take me to him—"

"Listen, I don't even know where he is!"

Merlin pushed past the knight, marching to the door. His head swam, but he was currently disconnected from his body. He had to find Gaius. In times like these, he just needed to find his mentor. It would be all right. He had magic. Magic could fix this. He could protect them all with his powers.

"Merlin, no! Stop. Stop moving. Please? How is this going to help?"

The warlock stopped and swerved. "I can still _save him!_"

"He's dead, Merlin! Gaius is _dead!_"

"Gwaine!"

Athur had appeared around the corner in the company of the other knights. His expression told Gwaine that next time he'd just leave Merlin in the caring claws of a deranged gryphon. Merlin was clinging to a wall, chest heaving.

"You said you'd tell me when he woke up!"

"I say lots of things!" Gwaine grumbled and went to Merlin's side again. "Arthur, he only just came to a moment ago. He said he wanted to _see_ Gaius."

Merlin lifted his head to look at Arthur. His eyes were red and pleading. The prince stared back, still finding not a single thing to say. A silent moment passed between them.

"All right. I'll take you to him."

* * *

><p>Merlin hadn't expected Arthur to grant his request, let alone personally accompany him. He assumed the prince would play protector again. Poor, brittle Merlin had no place facing a foe as great as this. But Arthur said not a word as he was led down one winding staircase after another to reach the vaults. Not until they were just outside the iron bars did the prince stop to mutter a word of feeble encouragement.<p>

"Take whatever time you need..."

The words felt uncomfortable, and Arthur knew Merlin could sense it. Still, his servant nodded, eyes glued to the floor. The doors creaked open. When Arthur didn't follow, Merlin considered turning back. He could already see a shrouded form in the darkness ahead of him, and he shivered against the cold, damp air that so suited the deceased. Merlin might leave now, and then there could always remain some sliver of hope that the man under the blanket was not his mentor. He didn't have to accept this.

But his feet had already started to move. The pedestal was coming closer.

His brain frantically searched for magic words that could solve this. Warm the chill and pump the blood and bring a man back from the dead. But Gaius himself had taught him what sort of magic had the power to resurrect. Merlin had seen it firsthand. Dark magic, that resulted in soulless reanimations. If Gaius was under that blanket, then there was nothing Merlin could do for him.

He was shaking badly. Arthur could see the tremors even from the corridor outside. Merlin's hand had a life of its own as it reached for the edge of the shroud. The form of a face was discernible beneath it. Already it looked much too much like the old white-haired physician.

Merlin paused. He couldn't do this. No. _No_—no he had to see. He'd do it quickly.

The blanket came down and Merlin turned away with a cry, hands grabbing at his face. His legs shook and then gave up. Arthur came rushing forward when the boy's knees slammed the stony ground. As he knelt with a hand on Merlin's back, he couldn't help but let his eyes wander up to the face on the altar. Stark white, still touched by frost; the glazed eyes stared upward. The mouth was half open, the face set in an expression of surprise. But as with any body, he looked strangely uncanny. As though the person wore a mask, or was just a very realistic copy of the man they knew. The soul made the person, and it was that emptiness of body that confirmed so strongly that yes, indeed, Gaius was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Once again, thanks for the awesome feedback! This chapter is definitely on the longer side, but the characters loosen up a bit, so it was quite fun to write. Enjoy!**

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><p>There was barely an inch of free space between each individual crowded into the palace courtyard, and had the ceremony been for anyone else, Arthur might have been surprised. With the attendants spreading into every close, up the steps, across the parapets, in windows, and spilling out of entryways, he had to assume that the whole of the city's population had emptied to pay respects to two of Camelot's most beloved.<p>

A steady drum was playing as two white horses pulled behind them a stained black wagon. The transport was decorated richly with yellow and red flowers, and laid amongst them, wearing fine red velvet robes, was the quiet form of the elderly physician. A procession of knights followed Gaius's body down the cobbled streets, where they would pass through the city gates and take him to the spot Merlin had chosen for burial. Arthur had instructed that a proper memorial be commissioned to mark the location.

Though he left no earthly remains, Lancelot's armour was to be entombed beneath the castle with the other great knights of Camelot. Their massive sarcophagi stood guard in rows together, fallen heroes with severe stone faces; brothers in arms. But up in the courtyard his passing was recognized on the pyre, where his cloak and sword lay burning.

And despite the massive numbers assembled, a silence had overtaken the crowd. The only noise to be heard was the crackling fire, the trotting hooves of the horses, and the steady, melancholy beat of the drum.

Merlin stood between two rows of palace guards, their arrangement mimicking that of the cross. He watched the wagon long after it had been engulfed by the townspeople and, swallowing hard, forced himself to turn his gaze to the fire. Arthur stood a little ways away, next to Lord Agravaine, Guinevere, and his most trusted knights. Merlin once again felt the cold, sour sensation of being completely alone.

He drifted in and out as Agravaine addressed the masses, speaking powerful, empty words about Gaius's wisdom and loyalty, and Lancelot's great strength and miraculous courage. Merlin's heart ached worse to hear the speech given by someone who scarcely knew either man. He found himself carrying on his own internal eulogy.

"... Sir Lancelot lived as the embodiment of true valour. He provided to us a stunning example of the bravery sought in every noble knight of Camelot..."

_Lancelot was not a noble. He didn't need to be. He proved himself to be stronger of heart, more honourable, more gallant, more merciful and loyal than any other. He was everything a knight should aspire to be._

"... Gaius was a dutiful servant, charged with the good health of our city, and it was a task he performed skilfully, and with full conviction..."

_Gaius listened to every ridiculous thing I ever had to say. He worried about me constantly. He taught me about magic and he would give his life to spare me Uther's wrath. He believed me when no one else would. He called me an idiot and a prodigy and a son._

When Merlin's mind focused again on the proceedings, the crowds were beginning to disperse. The fire still burned hot, but the ceremony was at an end. The young warlock felt an enormous heavy hand grip his shoulder. He looked up to see Sir Percival, who offered a solemn nod. Next to him was Leon, who looked equally sympathetic. Merlin nodded back, though his eyes darted often to the ground.

"Sir Leon. Sir Percival."

Leon grinned uncomfortably. "Are you coming to the feast?"

Merlin couldn't help but laugh. "It's honestly the last thing in the world I want to do."

"It might do you good to be in the company of friends."

Merlin stared.

Percival took that rare moment to speak. "We _are_ your friends, Merlin."

"I know. No, I do. I just..." he chewed the inside of his lip. "I'm not ready."

"It's all right, Merlin." Leon smiled, patting the boy on the arm. He stared a moment, and Merlin could almost feel the pity enveloping him. He fidgeted until Leon took his leave and headed into the palace with the others. Percival lingered. A strange, dismal silence settled between them.

"I didn't think it would ever be the same."

Merlin furrowed his brows, glancing up at the huge man. It was so unlike Percival to engage in conversation.

"What do you mean?" he asked, hesitation in his voice.

Percival stared at the fire. "My family was taken from me. All at once. By Cenred's men."

Merlin felt tears once again come unbidden to his already sore and swollen eyes. A knot formed in his stomach as Percival spoke.

"I could have joined them. I felt hopeless enough." His eyes moved from the flames to the young man's bowed head. "But Lancelot convinced me to fight for them instead. To fight the evil that took them."

Merlin sniffed. His hands were clenched into fists as though he intended to take the same advice and start fighting straight away. He had to admit he did feel an angry need for vengeance. But the hostility was toward himself. He was guilty of inaction and believed wholeheartedly that punishment was deserved. It took all of his will not to confess his sorcery to those still milling about right then and there, and take whatever fate resulted. _If only_ Merlin had some physical enemy to confront. But what was the point? What would it solve? The anger would eventually fade and he would still be alone. He turned the question to Percival.

"And after you've avenged them... what then? Who are you fighting for now?"

Sir Percival's smile was unexpected.

"Now I fight for my second family."

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><p>The days passed slowly, with Merlin at a loss for what to do with himself. He'd tried to convince Arthur to let him return to his duties—at least it would give him some sort of distraction—but on each occasion the prince seemed certain that Merlin still needed time to heal. The result was exactly the opposite. Merlin wandered the halls of the palace like a ghost, lost in his thoughts, lost in his purpose, and free to let the guilt and anger fester. He went out of his way to avoid the people who would try again and again to help him by reminding him of what had happened.<p>

He eventually found himself leaving the city to spend time in the forest and fields. He'd come there often to locate herbs for Gaius, and it was on a rocky mound, amidst a sea of long grass and beneath a cluster of trees that Merlin had told them to bury his mentor. Inevitably he would come to that spot and sit for hours, listening to the wind in the leaves and considering that maybe voices were hidden inside it.

On this particular day he wasn't left alone for long. He'd only been seated half-hidden in the grass for an hour when he'd heard the steady rhythm of approaching hoof beats. He could see the red cloaks of two riders and shuffled himself lower in the hopes they'd pass him by, but soon he recognized the men and knew they had come specifically to seek him out.

"Well, well, well! If it isn't _Merlin_," Gwaine grinned with feigned astonishment. "We were just out on a perfectly routine and scheduled patrol."

Merlin half-smiled. "Yes, well, that's obvious."

"And here you are, sitting alone and unaided in this treacherous field." Gwaine turned to Elyan, "I think this citizen is in _need_, Sir Elyan."

"I think you may be right, Sir Gwaine. 'Tis our duty as knights to protect the good people of Camelot from treacherous fields."

Merlin rolled his eyes, but his smile grew.

"You're lucky we found you," Elyan continued. "Not every knight is skilled enough for a mission such as this. We've got experience."

Gwaine nodded. "That's right, mate. We've got field training."

"Okay, okay! No more, just sit already!" Merlin edged over, shaking his head. "And Arthur calls _me_ the idiot. Aren't knights supposed to be refined?"

Gwaine answered this by ruffling the young man's hair. "In all manners of conduct, including comedy."

"That was refined comedy?" Merlin laughed, throwing up his arm.

The two knights sat on the grassy knoll, pleased to have gotten the reaction they'd been after. But Merlin's smile wavered quickly. He looked tired, eyes bruised and sunken, skin sickly white, and every bone not hidden beneath too-baggy clothing jutted with painful definition. It was the first time Gwaine had gotten a close look at him for several days, and it upset him to see the young man in such poor condition. He released a dramatic sigh and leaned back on his palms.

"Bright sunny day, blue skies, warm breeze... listen to those birds chirping. What we need now, is a good rowdy tavern brawl."

Elyan chuckled. Merlin snorted. "You're not happy unless you're bleeding."

"Reminds me I'm alive!" Gwaine shouted. Merlin bowed his head and the knight frowned. Words weren't getting them anywhere. The boy was clearly content to sit there until he wasted away. The shaggy-haired man got back to his feet.

"Well come on, Merlin, show us what you've got. Give me your best shot." He tapped his chest.

"I'm not tackling you, Gwaine."

"Not up to challenging the great _champion?_"

"Maybe I'm afraid of hurting you?"

Gwaine clapped his hands with a laugh. "Elyan, I'll bet my boots Merlin here can't even push me off balance."

Elyan looked from Gwaine to the servant. "I might take that bet. You're hardly balanced to begin with."

"Look at those arms! _Guinevere_ could wrap her hands around them twice. And the legs—is this a man or a stork?"

Merlin stood and Gwaine resumed his laughing, gesturing him forward. The boy ran and Gwaine steadied himself, but at the last moment Merlin dropped into a skid, feet colliding with Gwaine's ankles at a sharp angle and throwing him backward. His momentum still going, Merlin followed, and the two toppled down the hill into a ditch. Groaning, the warlock pulled himself up and staggered backward.

"Species of falcon, actually..."

Elyan side-stepped down the hill. Gwaine lay spread-eagle in the mud.

"Keep the boots, Gwaine. I've no patience for scrubbing out grass stains."

* * *

><p>"Hi, Merlin!"<p>

"Hello Gwen."

He stood in her doorway with a handful of flowers, an awkward grin on his face. Gwen was staring at him strangely before she finally moved back.

"Oh, sorry, come in!"

Merlin stepped into the small home, noting that the table was set for dinner. He cleared his throat, wanting to make this visit quick if his friend was expecting guests soon. He stepped around the table while Gwen busied herself seasoning some potatoes.

"Is it a rash then?"

Gwen looked taken aback. "_What?_"

"Arthur said you had a rash."

The woman stopped what she was doing and crossed her arms, one eyebrow raised. "Oh did he now?"

"He said it was really bad."

"I'll bet he did."

"This is... Calendula... it helps with..." Merlin pursed his lips, the awkward feeling growing. "Rashes. You don't have a rash do you?"

"No, I don't."

"Arthur lied to get me to come here, didn't he?"

"Yes, he did."

Merlin sighed and set the flowers on the cabinet. "That table is set for me, isn't it?"

Gwen smiled and took Merlin by the arms, manoeuvring him to a seat and forcing him down into it. The young man looked as though he was facing the gallows.

"Remind me to thank Arthur later for his... _creative_ support," she said, turning to collect the various dishes she'd prepared. It wasn't anything extravagant—potatoes, carrots, and chicken—but it was better than the standard fare for a servant. And she was more than happy to share it with Merlin, who she could see now was as bad if not worse than Arthur had described earlier in the day.

"_I'll tell him you've invited him over or something. He's getting worse. He's not eating, I don't think he's sleeping, he disappears for days. He fainted in a stairwell this morning. If another servant hadn't been passing he could have broken his neck—"_

Gwen had argued that _Arthur_ was the one who needed to talk to Merlin, but the prince had looked terribly uncomfortable at the notion. Gwen might have refused to help in order to force Arthur to do something, but as she sat down to eat, she could see that an intervention couldn't have waited.

She had already considered Merlin too thin for his own good, but now he looked ill. He was ashen and shaking, and lacking his neckerchief she could see the protruding collarbone and the first set of ribs plainly. His cheekbones, naturally defined, were so clear now that he looked skeletal.

"Gwen, thanks for going to the trouble, but... you can't spare this."

"I do just fine Merlin. Here, take some meat—"

He waved his hands. "No. I mean, no, thank you. I'm not hungry, honestly."

"Oh? When did you eat last?"

"Ahh..." he sighed. "Uh. I think—"

"Wrong answer. Eat."

Merlin frowned and with all the effort he could muster began to pick at his carrots. Gwen nodded her approval. It was a start, at least. She glanced at the flowers Merlin had brought as she tucked in to her own meal.

"Those look fresh."

Merlin matched her gaze. "Oh, yeah, I picked them after I heard about your, ah... condition."

"Right. He's going to pay for that. Did..." she hesitated, easing ever so gently over the name. "Did Gaius not have any in his stores?"

Sure enough, Merlin flinched. "I haven't been back to his chambers yet... actually."

"Oh." Gwen kicked herself as Merlin proceeded to stare at his plate, but she'd gotten an answer to the question she'd been wondering about. It meant that Merlin was still without a proper home. "Are you planning to go back?"

"I guess I'll have to. My other set of clothes is in there."

Gwen nodded. "That would explain the smell, then."

Merlin stared up at her, a little startled, before choking on a laugh. Gwen joined him a second later. The giggling faded back into the sound of crickets and Merlin playing with his food.

After a few minutes of silence, Gwen spoke up again. "I think you should go back."

"I know. I will."

"And Arthur will go with you."

Merlin quirked an eyebrow. "He will?"

"That's right. He's looking forward to spending some time with you."

"_Arthur_ is?"

Gwen smiled cheerfully.

"... _Prince_ Arthur?"

"Merlin, eat your dinner."

* * *

><p>"Are you ready?"<p>

Merlin didn't look at all ready. "Yeah, I think so."

Arthur gave a curt nod and shouldered open the door to Gaius's chambers, silently cursing Gwen for putting him in this position. He walked inside without waiting, finding a place by the window to stand before he turned round to see if Merlin had followed. His manservant hadn't. He'd been caught off guard by the smell; the spicy aroma of a hundred different herbs that the old man had carried with him. Gaius might have been standing right next to him.

"I—I can't—"

Merlin took a step back. He had gotten very good in the past week at controlling the emotions that wanted at all times to spill out, and he didn't want to break down again, especially here in front of Arthur. This was Gaius's sanctuary, and it had become his own. It was a place where Merlin had been safe to speak of anything, to read magical books and practice his spells. Gaius had made it safe, but now, especially with the prince standing there eying him, it was anything but.

"_Mer_lin..." Arthur grumbled and came after the manservant, grabbing one of his frail arms and pulling him as carefully as he could into the center of the room.

"There. You've done it. You're inside."

Merlin frowned at him. "Thank you, _sire_."

"Sire, now, is it? What happened to prat?"

Merlin strode past the prince. "Oh I think he's here too."

Arthur rolled his eyes and followed Merlin as he explored the chambers like some animal investigating its new pen. At least it so far wasn't as bad as the prince had been expecting. Merlin had had some days to grieve, and though the boy looked fit to collapse, there was so far no unexpected sharing of feelings or moments that called for a comforting hug. It would seem Merlin knew well enough that Arthur was not the person for that job. Arthur solved issues by hitting them with swords.

"I can arrange for you to continue staying here," Arthur interjected. "There are plenty of other rooms fit for the use of our new court physician."

Merlin stopped in the process of reading the labels on bottles so carefully written by Gaius's hand. "You've... found someone else already?"

"My uncle considered it our top priority. He's younger, but I hear he's skilled enough."

"He'll never be better."

"No. Probably not."

Merlin went even quieter, crossing from one side of the room to the other. He stopped at Gaius's desk and began to shuffle through the stacks of notes. Most were records of illnesses and the medicines used for treatment.

Arthur was growing uncomfortable with the silence. "I was thinking..."

"I'm impressed."

"Shut up. I was thinking, if you'd like to return to your duties tomorrow, I wouldn't be opposed to it."

Merlin found a letter and immediately recognized the handwriting. It was from his mother to Gaius. He slipped it out from beneath the other pieces of parchment and began to read, only half-registering Arthur's words. "You actually want me back?"

Arthur put on an air of fake frustration. "This new servant I have is terrible. He arrives on time with my breakfast every morning, doesn't insult me, finishes _all_ of the chores I give him..."

"Sounds boring."

"Oh. Insufferable."

_I miss him dearly, Gaius. Your stories always bring a smile to my face, but I often find myself in tears also. I've missed all of these accomplishments, and conversely all of the pain and heartache. When I hear of the tragedies I want only to pull him into a tight embrace and never let go. I can't tell you how much it eases my mind to know that you are there for him. You've called him your son and it gladdens my heart. I know that Merlin will always be safe with you._

"_Merlin?_"

"Huh? What?" Merlin sniffed loudly and shuffled the papers away.

"I _asked_ you, are you returning to work?"

Merlin stared at the desk, adam's apple bobbing. Arthur suddenly realized that he'd missed something.

"Merlin—"

"No."

"_No?_"

"I think... that I'm going to go home."


	4. Chapter 4

**Well these just seem to be getting longer and longer. But hopefully for the best! As always, the reviews are making me smile-keep 'em comin'! And poplip, I am most honoured, thank you!**

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><p>Merlin flopped down onto his bed, completely exhausted. He'd spent the past few days running himself even more ragged—which was quite ridiculously ragged indeed—saying his goodbyes, packing his things, and avoiding Arthur's attempts to change his mind. The prince had been shocked by his servant's sudden decision, to say the least, and Merlin had never known him to be so, for lack of a better term, <em>clingy<em>. Arthur had tried every method he could think of, from guilt-trips—

"_And what am I to do when my next servant doesn't sharpen my sword enough? Or fails to bring me my meals? I might actually be physically harmed, _Mer_lin."_

_Merlin placed a reassuring hand on Arthur's shoulder. "You _always_ complain that I don't do anything enough, and I've actually _stolen_ food from you, remember? To keep you from getting fat."_

"_I'm _not_ fat!"_

To bribery—

"_It's a shame, really. I had just commissioned a red cloak of your very own. With 'Merlin' stitched into the back in gold letters."_

"_I don't need a cape, Arthur. I'd trip on a cape."_

_Arthur frowned. "A _cloak_, Merlin."_

"_Right, not a cape, a very different sort of huge billowy cloth getting caught up in my feet. Who did you commission for it?"_

_Arthur's eyes narrowed. "... George..."_

_Merlin shook his head with a grin. "Send my apologies to Cloakmaster George, then."_

"_What about a new neckerchief?"_

To flat-out pleading—

"_I understand in a time like this that you'd want to be with your family, Merlin, but permanently? Couldn't you return after a visit? Surely Camelot has more to offer you than Ealdor? Bring your mother back with you!"_

Merlin had been tempted at that idea, but he knew his mother wouldn't be happy away from her home. Camelot would be too much of a change for her. He wasn't prepared to put her into an uncomfortable situation. He was already going to Ealdor for his own selfish reasons. Hunith was the only person left who knew his secret. She was the only one who actually knew Merlin for who he _really_ was. He was tired of the pain and tragedy that came from following his destiny. Was it really fair to keep sacrificing one good person after another to save a single man?

He felt a stab of regret for even thinking Arthur wasn't worth it, but in the past weeks he was questioning everything that had happened thus far. It seemed since he arrived in Camelot, he had done no good at all. Arthur still wasn't king, use of magic was still punishable by death, villains had emerged and constantly sought to destroy Camelot, Morgana tried time and again to usurp the throne, his magic was never quite powerful enough, his knowledge never broad enough, always resorting to the help of Gaius or the Great Dragon, and so many, many people dead along the way. He'd wanted to use his magic for good, but it had brought him nothing but evil.

Merlin rolled onto his side, facing his tiny bedroom window. He was so very, very tired. His life made little sense now. Prophesy dictated that he was to be the world's most powerful warlock, standing at King Arthur's side, bringing peace and uniting Albion... but what was so terrible about just being regular old Merlin? Why did his life have to be planned out before him? It wasn't fair.

He sighed, once again unable to succumb to sleep. He was still uncertain, grief-stricken, and afraid, but he would get up in the morning, gather his meagre possessions, mount a horse...

... and say goodbye to Camelot.

* * *

><p>"Is this all you're taking? It doesn't seem like enough."<p>

Merlin tied the last of his bags to the saddle, trying to hide the smile Gwen's needless worrying was causing.

"Where's your food—oh, did you bring a blanket?"

Merlin hoisted himself up onto the horse. "I'm fine Gwen, it's not that long of a journey, really."

"It's just that it gets really cold at night—"

"I have a blanket!" he grinned. "And food and water. Arthur even gave me a sword."

Gwen seemed satisfied enough at this to stop pestering him, but she resorted to fidgeting instead. Merlin watched her sadly before turning his horse.

"I'll miss you, Guinevere."

She had bowed her head. Merlin nodded. He'd said his clumsy goodbyes to Gwen, Arthur, and the knights a dozen times already that morning. And though, strangely, Gwen was the only one there now to see him off, he couldn't put off leaving any longer, no matter how guilty he might feel. He started down the street.

"N-no, Merlin, wait!"

She was running after him now. "Get down!"

"What? Gwen, why—"

She pulled him down off of the horse and grabbed him into a tight hug. Merlin could hear her quietly sobbing and it made his own eyes water.

"Come on, Gwen, don't cry."

"Please," she pulled back, holding his thin arms. "Please, _please_ take care of yourself. I know it feels hopeless, but Merlin, don't give up. It _will_ get better. And then you have to come back and visit us. Promise."

She hugged him again, and Merlin's smile twitched in pain. He muttered "I will," and then Gwen turned him around and pushed him back toward his horse.

She swiped at her eyes. "Okay, go on then."

Merlin mounted again, gave one last final wave, and set off on the short ride out of the city. It seemed that he'd first arrived in Camelot a lifetime ago, overwhelmed by the size of the buildings and the number of people, but now, as familiar passersby bid him farewell, he wondered how he would cope without this place.

The guards at the front gates shouted his name and waved him off as Merlin headed down the dirt road toward the forest. The sky was clear and the weather still warm enough. He hoped it would last. Still, the previous time he'd made the trip alone he'd been on foot. Back then he would not have expected the dangers he now knew lurked around every corner.

He rode for hours, which allowed niggling thoughts to take over again. Memories of Gaius and Lancelot and of his many close-calls and adventures with Arthur; facing off against magical beasts and powerful sorcerers, and how he would now be leaving all of it behind, potentially changing the fate of the world in the process... it was dark by the time he realized his tired horse was slowing and he'd not stopped a moment to rest that day.

Begging the poor animal's forgiveness, he dismounted near a stream and began to set up a simple camp.

"_Fýrgnást._"

He waved his hand above the pile of firewood and it instantly burst into flame. With a sigh, he sat on his blanket, staring ahead while his horse grazed and the fire gently crackled. Loneliness crept back over him. He recalled his days in Ealdor, where he had been despised and feared. No one cared for or understood him, except for his mother and his best friend Will. _Will_... Merlin winced. It wouldn't be the same without him there. He was yet another who had taken Merlin's secret to the grave.

He took a few bites of bread before the nagging nausea forced him to stop. Instead, he lay down and watched the few stars that broke through the forest ceiling. He wondered if there would ever be another to fill the position of best friend; someone who he could go to for help, who knew of his powers and didn't treat him any differently for it. He wondered if it was safe to put that burden on anyone else.

A horse cried out from somewhere in the forest and Merlin shot back up. His own horse was still quietly eating.

"_Á__lynian æledfýr_—" Merlin whispered the words and the campsite went dark. Immediately he heard the footfalls of horses approaching.

As quietly as he could, Merlin crawled toward his belongings and unwrapped his sword. The riders were almost upon him now. In the hazy moonlight he could see them on the road, coming straight alongside the river. Why hadn't he chosen a more secluded spot? Merlin shook, cramped fingers locked around the sword hilt.

The horses stopped beside his own. Merlin lurched to his feet and staggered, overcome with dizziness. Two figures ran at him and the warlock swung his sword. Shouting followed. Merlin saw stars and a fuzzy darkness seeped into the edges of his vision. Someone gripped him by the shoulders before his head dipped and his senses vanished.

* * *

><p>"Coooome on, <em>Mer<em>lin..."

The firelight was flickering again. It was shining against a blurry face, but Merlin was too far away to see it. He was floating somewhere up amongst the stars.

"Wake up, now, come on. Where are you?"

Someone was shaking him. His eyelids fluttered and the face came suddenly closer. It was fuzzy and grinning like a maniac. Merlin jumped and threw his elbows at it.

"Whoa—_he_-llo! There you are."

"... _Gwaine?_" Merlin groaned and rolled sideways out of his grip, propping himself up on his palms. His head was still swimming.

"The very same. You took us completely off guard there, Merlin." He instinctively caught the boy when he tried and failed to sit forward prematurely. "Though don't count on the sword-flail-followed-by-dead-faint manoeuvre to work on just anyone."

"What are you doing here—wait, _us?_ Who's us?"

Gwaine looked over his shoulder. The second rider was returning from the stream, wrapping his hand in cloth.

"Don't look too smug, Merlin. Generally when I come to a person's aid I'm not expecting them to start stabbing me." Arthur sat down next to Gwaine, tearing the excess bandage away with his teeth.

Merlin was just confused now. "I did that? Hold on—what _aid?_ I don't need any aid. I thought you were bandits or something!"

"Well we had hoped to catch up with you sooner, mate, but you must have driven your horse half to death today. You had something of a head start." Gwaine yawned and then stretched loud enough to personally offend a nearby screech owl. He leaned forward to rummage through Merlin's bags. "What's for dinner then?"

"Hey—that's mine, I need that—"

"Really? Didn't look like you were eating it."

"You fainted again," Arthur added. "This has to stop, Merlin."

Gwaine pointed a hunk of bread at the warlock and spoke through the other hunk in his mouth. "Sounds like an order."

"_Def_initely an order."

Merlin stood up suddenly. "Heeey! Hello! Say—_just curious_—were you planning on telling me at any point what the _hell_ you're both doing here?"

Gwaine grinned. "You need only ask, Merlin."

"We came to accompany you." Arthur stated without looking at his former servant. "The road is hardly without danger and as you apparently have no sense of self-preservation whatsoever, it seemed appropriate to make sure you didn't get yourself killed."

Merlin crumpled back to the ground and a twisted grin spread across his face. "You just couldn't let me go, could you?"

"I'm simply doing my _duty_."

"It was breaking your heart to be without me!"

"_Mer_lin..."

Despite everything, he felt massively relieved to have them both there. They may not know the real Merlin, but it was clear enough that they cared about him. The crippling loneliness was slightly lessened with their unexpected arrival.

"Well... thanks," he said, bowing his still-smiling face. "Though for the record I'm not completely helpless. I did defend myself." He motioned to Arthur's wounded hand.

Arthur raised his eyebrows incredulously. "Yes. You did. Right before you fainted from hunger next to your uneaten supper."

"It was a victory faint."

"It was pathetic. And while I'm here you're going to eat properly. Your mother's going to think I'm overworking and starving you."

Merlin brightened. "Ah yeah, that would spare me a lecture. Good idea, Arthur."

"You're _not_ telling her that!"

Gwaine clapped the crumbs from his hands, the bread finished. "Will you ladies be wrapping it up soon? I think it's past my bedtime."

Arthur grunted his disapproval and stood to gather his blankets. Merlin, still smiling, pulled his own blanket around his shoulders and nestled into the grass. For the first time in a very long time, he enjoyed a proper sleep free from destructive thoughts and painful memories.

* * *

><p>Arthur woke first the next morning, and noticed with relief that Merlin was still fast asleep. He proceeded to pack up the blankets and organize breakfast as quietly as possible to allow the young man to continue sleeping for as long as he could. It was Gwaine's ridiculously loud morning routine of back-cracking stretches that finally woke his former servant, but once the three of them were up and chatting, Arthur was further satisfied when Merlin accepted his breakfast and made a considerable effort to finish it.<p>

The trio returned to the road in good spirits, and it wasn't long before the teasing banter Arthur secretly adored began to take hold of their conversations. Merlin, riding in the middle, was talking animatedly with a genuine smile Arthur hadn't seen in far too long.

"I had to pick up his shirt, and it was really busy for the festival so I was running late—"

"Is _that_ the cause? There must be rogue festivals taking place daily in my castle."

"I got to his room and he was already up and clothed and I said something like 'you're dressed!'" Merlin laughed and Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Yes because Merlin assumes that I'm a complete idiot incapable of dressing myself."

"Yeah! That's what he said too, '_Yes Merlin, I'm not an idiot_'," Merlin imitated Arthur with a much deeper and stupider voice than was necessary, and scratched at the back of his head, "except that he'd gone and tucked his shirt into his belt and you could see his backside—"

"That _never_ happened!"

"Yes it did." Merlin looked over at Gwaine and nodded knowingly. "It did."

"Right, and why didn't you say anything at the time?"

"Because it was funnier not to."

Gwaine was laughing and Arthur was trying his best to save face.

"This, _this_ is my friend Merlin, Gwaine. Always looking out for me! Honestly, could I have ended up with a more useless servant?"

It was Merlin's turn to roll his eyes. But the ball was in Arthur's court now and he was determined to take advantage of it.

"If he's not wasting time lazing about the castle avoiding work, serving me rats, or dropping me from tower windows, he's cowering behind a rock somewhere while I save his scrawny backside."

Arthur was laughing now, but Merlin was feeling a twinge of annoyance. He knew he shouldn't press the issue, they had been enjoying themselves, but his emotions were suddenly creeping up again and getting the better of him.

"So when I kept you safe from bandits after you were knocked out by that arrow, or when I drank poison for you, or when I followed you into the labyrinth, or when I jumped into the Dorocha—" That was it. Merlin knew things were going to go downhill from here and the expression of discomfort shared by Arthur and Gwaine confirmed it. "Let's not forget how I got the job in the first place, Arthur."

"So, not completely useless then!" Gwaine interrupted, smiling through the awkward silence that had taken over. "So, ah, what do you call these hills up ahead?"

As Gwaine went on to distract Arthur, Merlin went quiet. He missed complaining about Arthur's pigheadedness to Gaius. He missed impressing Lancelot with simple tricks. He missed feeling at least somewhat _wanted_, for reasons other than the need of clean shirts and shiny boots. He'd been protecting Arthur at every turn for years. He'd lost Will, Freya, Balinor, Lancelot, and Gaius. He'd come close to losing his mother. Through his own actions hundreds had died from the Great Dragon's attack, and hundreds more after guilt and mercy forced him to save Morgana from the brink of death. The more he thought of each passing day in Camelot, the more he realized just how much suffering had been centered around his coming there; intertwined with or directly resulting from his magical gift.

If a gift it was. He'd always convinced himself that his magic was a part of him; as much a part of him as any of his other quirks or tendencies. If that were so, then Merlin suddenly felt like a terrible person.

What might life have been like for him, for everyone, if he'd never been born with it?

* * *

><p>The rest of the day hadn't been nearly as light-hearted as it had started. Gwaine had attempted to maintain a consistent dialogue almost entirely by his lonesome, while barely a word was spoken between Merlin and Arthur. They stopped mid-day on the summit of an enormous hill, their spot giving them a view of the entire valley, but Merlin showed little enthusiasm, and his sour mood just rubbed off on Arthur. He and Gwaine ate in silence while Merlin went back to picking at his meal.<p>

The side-effect of the trio's general state of melancholy was that they rode hard and made excellent time. By nightfall they were close enough to Ealdor that only a few hours traveling would be needed the following morning. Arthur made an attempt to apologize to Merlin before they settled in for sleep, and the warlock, feeling particularly guilty for having ignored him all day, accepted with a small smile.

Still, sleep didn't visit him that night.

He figured it was an hour before dawn when rustling drew his attention away from his restless pondering. He rolled over under his blanket and stared bleary-eyed at the mounds that were Arthur and Gwaine.

Or, rather, the mounds that _should_ have been Arthur and Gwaine.

Merlin sat up, immediately wide-eyed and alert. The campsite was empty.

Unsure if it was safe to call their names, he crawled to his feet and stood listening. Sure enough, the same rustling sounded again, this time a little further off. Merlin bolted toward what was very likely to be a dangerous situation, but it was ingrained in him now. If Arthur was in trouble, he would come running.

They were out in open fields now. He could see the very hazy movement of figures ahead of him. They disappeared as the shadow of another massive hill overtook them. Merlin slowed a little, ducking as he continued forward. As he got closer, he could see that the roots of this particular mountain formed the gaping maw of a cave. The figures had apparently moved into it.

"Where is it?"

"This way. Definitely this way…"

Merlin hurried his pace again. Those were unquestionably the voices of his friends, even if they did sound a bit strange and distant.

He caught up to them, and doubled over to catch his breath. "What are you doing out here!" he gasped.

"Shhhh," Arthur raised a finger to him and continued to look ahead. "Can't you smell it?"

"Smell what?"

Gwaine swayed, a dreamy grin on his face. "It's heavenly."

Merlin stopped and inhaled. He couldn't smell anything, but he could—yes, there it was. He could _sense_ it. The swirling energy was weaving all around them.

Magic.

"Arthur, we need to go back. Come on. Gwaine!"

"Not now, Merlin."

He was getting desperate now. Something was breathing in this cave. The magic was getting stronger. And then it hit him. A pungent odour, but not at all a pleasant one. It smelled of rotted meat and death. Merlin covered his nose with a sleeve. In one final attempt to knock some sense into his two companions, he bent and hurled a rock at the back of Arthur's head.

Arthur wheeled. "Merlin! What is wrong with you!"

At that moment the creature pounced. Merlin dove forward and shoved Arthur, but his force wasn't enough. The creature ploughed into both of them. Gwaine continued to stand and sniff. Amidst snarling, Merlin managed to roll and get to his knees. The thing before him was gigantic. It had the body of a lion, but its face was a mix of horse and cat. It was yellow, spotted red and blue, and its forked tongue was licking at the prince as he struggled to keep the animal at bay.

Arthur had no weapon on him. Gwaine was still under the creature's spell. Once again, it was up to Merlin to rescue the prince.

He ducked low, and in a hush, said the needed words. "_Á__blinnan drýcræft __á__lecgan beadumægen!_"

The beast flew backward from Arthur, slamming the rock with a howl of pain. Arthur scrambled to his feet. Gwaine shook his head and looked around with dawning comprehension. The creature now had its sights set on Merlin and was poised and ready to lunge. Its shoulders shifted up and down in anticipation.

"Merlin, what are you doing? Get behind me!"

Merlin glared, but eventually jogged back over. Gwaine joined the prince at his side and both began to lift large rocks and thrust them at the monster. Wounded and no longer in control, it issued a mournful howl and padded back into the depths of the mountain. Three sighs of relief echoed across the rock.

"Well, that was weird," Gwaine said. "Anyone else have a splitting headache?"

Arthur nodded. "It was a panther. They rarely leave their caves to hunt. They bring the food to themselves using magic…"

"Sounds like a dream I had once."

The prince led the way back out of the cave, stopping out in the field to pat Merlin hard on the back. The smaller man staggered forward.

"See? I told you you'd need us."

Merlin's eyes narrowed. With a huff, he headed back to camp.


	5. Chapter 5

**Phew! Sorry for the wait. Got steamrolled by school. Here's some more, at last!**

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><p>"<em>Merlin?<em>"

Hunith's eyes went wide at the sight before her. There was her son, grinning from ear to ear, riding in the middle of both a knight of Camelot and, yes, she was sure of it—the crowned prince Arthur himself. Dropping a basket of wet laundry into the grass, she rushed forward. Merlin leapt down from his horse to meet her, nearly crashing backward when his mother caught him in a rather forceful combination of tackle and hug.

"Mum-!" Merlin laughed, barely able to breathe.

"I heard, Merlin. I got your letter. I'm so sorry, my dear. I'm so terribly sorry."

Merlin froze at first, suddenly aware that he was in the company of someone who shared and fully understood the depth of his grief. He stiffened, and then bowed his head, allowing himself to cry openly again. His mother was already doing the same. The two exchanged another long embrace. On their horses, Arthur and Gwaine shared awkward smiles.

"Now," Hunith pulled back, holding Merlin at arm's length as she got a better look at him. "Come inside." Her fingers moved idly, feeling bone beneath her son's tunic. "You look starved half to death."

As Merlin looked away sheepishly, Hunith's eyes traveled up to the prince. Arthur immediately appeared one edge, mouth opening to defend himself. Merlin grinned, but instead of the prince receiving a lecture on neglecting his servants, Merlin received a harsh shove toward the family home. Hunith grinned up at Arthur.

"You're safe from this mother's wrath, sire. I know he's done it to himself."

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief.

"One of the boys over there will tend to your horses," Hunith told the prince and his knight. "Come inside and we'll all have some porridge."

Gwaine grinned broadly at that, but Arthur knew better. He shook his head as the woman and her son walked off together.

"What? What's wrong with porridge?"

"Oh, nothing," Arthur smiled, dismounting his horse and leading it toward the stables. "If you like the taste of sawdust."

Gwaine scoffed at that. "A kindly woman of simple means is offering you food and shelter, Arthur, and you have the nerve to question her skills as a cook?"

"Just you wait, Sir Gwaine. You'll be eating your words with that porridge."

* * *

><p>Arthur couldn't really believe it. He was doing his best to choke down the bland-tasting gruel, but Gwaine was already polishing off his second helping, and looked eager enough for a third. Hunith was thrilled, but the prince was unimpressed. The knight quite obviously just didn't have any taste-buds.<p>

As Hunith left to prepare another pot, Gwaine edged over to Arthur's side.

"As it happens, I do love the taste of sawdust. Always have."

Arthur forced an unimpressed smile.

Merlin appeared to be enjoying his food as well, which was a relief to everyone present. Hunith had chastised him quite thoroughly for taking such poor care of himself, but it was clear enough from the way she spoke that she understood why. Her son had suffered so greatly since leaving Ealdor, and the blow he had endured, losing a confidant and a mentor following an already traumatizing battle against a horde of creatures representing death itself, was by far the worst of a string of pain and loss.

However she was finding it difficult to accept that Merlin planned to return to living in the small village. As much as Camelot had brought its share of misery into the boy's life, it had also played an important role in what she was sure was to be a world-changing destiny. He had made important friends, learned so many valuable lessons, and had barely scratched the surface of his profound powers. She knew great things were meant for her son, but not there in Ealdor. Not amongst superstitious farmers and simple peasant folk.

She collected Merlin's empty bowl and handed Gwaine another helping.

"I imagine you and Sir Gwaine will be spending the night with us?" Hunith asked Arthur.

The prince choked a little on his food. Clearing his throat, he sat back and addressed Merlin's mother without actually making any direct eye contact.

"Ah, yes. Well, I've actually arranged for a few... weeks of absence—"

"_Weeks?_" Merlin asked with shock.

Arthur frowned. "After recent events I thought some recuperation time was in order. This village is very quiet and peaceful, I think it would serve us well to experience a slower pace for a while. Gwaine agrees—"

"What—?"

"And of course we'd be more than happy to assist in whatever duties you might have for us. Hunting, sword training, exercising the horses..."

"Can you milk a goat?" Hunith asked with a wry smile.

The look on Arthur's face made Merlin's day—quite possibly his whole week. The prince stammered. "I—I, uh. Yes, yes of course."

Hunith nodded. She knew exactly what prince Arthur was doing and she loved the young man all the more for it. It was clear he cared a great deal for Merlin.

"You're more than welcome to stay, prince Arthur. I'll set an extra two cots in Merlin's room for you."

"Just Arthur, please," the prince replied, flashing his most winning smile. When the good woman turned to tidy the kitchen, his smile fell. He leaned back over to Gwaine. "_Milk_ goats? They make milk? Is that normal?"

The knight snorted into his bowl.

"More porridge, Arthur?" Hunith asked from across the room.

"Please!"

Arthur caught his mistake, winced, and grabbed his head.

* * *

><p>Merlin had spent the rest of the day chatting contentedly with his mother and friends, even going so far as to share fond stories of Gaius and Lancelot. The four of them had laughed and reminisced and enjoyed an evening walk through the village before tucking in to a supper of chicken and beets—after which Arthur, relieved, was sure that the porridge was an anomaly. It had all been so perfect, but after saying their goodnights and retreating to Merlin's old room, the warlock had found himself sleepless again.<p>

He was there, back with his mother, back with someone who knew the truth. Back with family. But the looks he'd received from the villagers were the same as he remembered; full of loathing and fear. He missed Gwen, and he missed the other knights, and he missed Camelot. He missed Gaius and their life before everything had gone wrong.

He was still alone. He was still living a lie. He was still a mess of grief and guilt and uncertainty, all tugging at him from every angle. He could feel his magic under the surface of his skin, almost itching to be used again, but Merlin was feeling resentful of it. Of himself.

Arthur and Gwaine were asleep in their cots behind him. It was still dark outside, but the sound of birds signaled the coming arrival of morning light. Merlin couldn't feign unconsciousness any longer. He sat up and swung his gangly legs over the edge of his old bed.

"Psst, Arthur! Gwaine!"

He'd stood, and was prodding the prince in the shoulder. Arthur groaned and swatted at him like he would an irritating insect.

"It's time to get up!" Merlin hissed.

"It's dark out, you idiot."

"It's morning. Time to get to work!"

"What? Mornings are _sunny_, and I'm on holiday. Go away."

Merlin heaved a sigh and sat down on the floor. Content that his former servant would allow him to continue resting, Arthur rolled over with a satisfied smile. A second later, his cot was also rolling over, Merlin braced on the ground with his legs beneath it. The prince landed with a heavy thud on the wooden floor. Gwaine shot up in his own cot with a battle cry.

"_Mer_lin!" Arthur snarled, struggling to untangle himself from the bed-sheets.

"Good morning, sire," Merlin smiled. "Sleep well?"

"I'm going to wring your neck!"

Merlin dodged the flailing Arthur and rushed for the door. "Great! If you're in the wringing mood, I'll show you precisely how to milk a goat."

He shut the door behind him as a porridge bowl smashed into it.

* * *

><p>A gloomy figure stood against the dissipating darkness as the sun rose behind her on the rocky Tintagel coast. Wind whipped at her robes and loose dark hair. The landscape was a barren olive-green, and the cliffs dropped straight down into the churning sea below, but that was in fact her destination. Somewhere down there was the sacred place she'd come looking for.<p>

Morgana, exiled daughter of Uther Pendragon, set her jaw in determination and began the perilous descent down the steep, damp cliff-side. Each step set her heart on edge. The holds were shallow, her boots slipping more than once against the mossy surface, but with each foot of progress she felt herself coming closer to her goal. The magic pulsing beneath her fingers was impossible to dispute. The entrance was close.

The crashing waves were deafening. Pinned against the rocky wall, she side-stepped toward the mouth of a small cave, the water lapping at her toes, willing she come in for a swim. As she rounded the corner, the ledge dropped off suddenly. Boots skidded. She hit the freezing water with a scream and felt herself dragged under. The light vanished, as did any indication of up from down. She felt herself whirled and slammed against rock after rock until finally, seconds from gulping down a lungful of sea water, she was expelled up onto a dark stone beach.

Morgana lay there for several minutes, panting, choking, and regaining her composure.

Her eyes lifted, and there it was, plain as day. She cursed herself for having sat there in such close proximity and not noticed.

It was a simple archway, set in the middle of a quiet ledge, aged and crumbling. There was no indication of any spell or special meaning. Its existence seemed pointless. Morgana smiled, hand brushing along the edge of it. She crawled to her feet, already speaking the words. Her eyes flashed gold.

"_Á__rásian geat æt déaþsele ond ábannan déofolscín ond ásæle æt mín sáwol..."_

Only a low drumming came in reply, but the space between the arch grew dark.

"I am Morgana Pendragon, and I call you forth, demon. Bind yourself to me."

A sharp hiss issued from the gate and the voice that followed reverberated through the rock.

"_You know the price that comes with my service, witch."_

Morgana's brows furrowed. "And you know that in return you must do all that I ask of you."

"_It is known."_

The young woman bowed her head. "My soul is yours then. Come forth!"

Laughter erupted from the gate, and it spread throughout the cave. Morgana stepped back, a presence felt on every side of her, until it was inside her head. The laughter continued as she buckled and dropped to the ground.

"Quiet! Be quiet! I command it!"

The laughter ceased with a drawn-out hiss.

"You must answer a question for me," she gasped.

"_Yes. We must."_ The voice spoke straight into her mind now. The woman fought back a whimper of pain.

"You must tell me... who is Emrys? Tell me... where can I find him?"

A pause. _"You know him now. You know where he has gone."_

"I do not!"

"_Blind, child. Blind by hate and greed and need for vengeance."_

"Explain yourself!" Morgana shouted. "Who is Emrys that I should know him? _Who is he?_"

The laughter began again as a low chuckle. _"Blessed are the meek—"_

"_Who!_"

"_... for they shall inherit the earth..."_

Morgana stood, filled with rage. The laughter increased, but within it was a name.

"_... Merlin..."_

Her eyes widened. "No...!"

"_Emrys. Merlin."_

"That can't be—"

The laughter subsided, but the dark presence remained thick in her mind. It continued to whisper the name as Morgana turned, disbelieving. A darkness fell over her gaze.

"Merlin..."


	6. Chapter 6

**Hope everyone enjoyed their holidays! Here's my gift to you all. A new chapter! Hurrah!**

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><p>Groggy, grumpy, and once again full of terrible porridge, Arthur waited with Gwaine just outside of Merlin's home, shivering in the cold morning air, though he still wasn't sure that this could be called <em>morning<em>. There were still stars in the sky, for god's sake. And to make matters worse, Gwaine looked refreshed, alert, and chipper. It was doing nothing for his mood. He decided to harbour a grudge toward mornings from that moment henceforth. Upon his return to Camelot he would perhaps enact some sort of anti-morning ordinance…

Hunith emerged from the house, her son trailing behind. "I see Merlin's got you up and fed, my lord. How was your sleep?"

"Oh, splendid!" Arthur chortled. The reach of Hunith's eyebrows told him he was laying it on a bit too thick.

Merlin offered his prince an all-knowing grin. Arthur was suffering on his behalf and Merlin was safe from his master's foul temper, and the warlock had no qualms with taking a great amount of devious joy from the situation. Arthur gave him the most dangerous glare he could muster whilst still grinning politely. The effect was a perfect imitation of derangement.

"Well we'll set you both straight to work," Hunith smiled. "Arthur, if you'd be so kind, I thought you might tidy up the pig yard."

"Pigs," Arthur stated. "A yard of them, you say? A whole yard of smelly, dirty… pigs."

Hunith answered with a slow nod.

"Yes... why not? I'll give it a go."

"They bite too," his former servant interjected.

"Yes, thank you _Mer_lin."

Hunith nodded, turning to Gwaine. "And the ladies will be needing your help scrubbing the linens."

"Ha!" Arthur suddenly felt better about his assignment. "Doing the laundry! With hair as long as yours I think you'll fit right in, Sir Gwaine."

"Well, they do need a bit of supervision," Hunith added. Arthur continued to gloat in silence. "They're all young women, prone to misbehaviour."

Gwaine went ahead and stole Arthur's smile away. "Misbehaviour you say?"

"Oh it doesn't take long before they're all pushing one another into the tub. We end up with more clothes in need of washing than we start with when those girls are at it."

Gwaine's open-mouthed smile spread to Merlin. Arthur returned to glaring like a mad person. The knight stepped toward Hunith and took a deep theatrical bow before her, long hair very nearly sweeping the earth.

"Rest assured, my lady, I will make certain those naughty young girls are kept firmly under control."

"And I will see to the ferocious pigs!" Arthur shot back. "Because I am a _man_, doing _man's_ work."

Gwaine waved to Arthur as Hunith led him off. Merlin swallowed his laughter, took a deep breath, and joined the prince at his side. His face was now stoic.

"Shall I show you to the manly field of little piggies now, sire?"

"_Mer_lin…" Arthur stared ahead, jaw set in agitation. "I hope for your sake that you are confident in your decision to leave Camelot, because so help me, if you should ever show your face there again—"

"Week in the stocks?"

"You will _live_ in the stocks."

"Duly noted, your highness." Merlin started off down a dirt path, but broke into a run as he risked his next statement. "I'll show you where we keep the very masculine slop buckets first."

Arthur bolted off after him; sympathetic pretenses be damned.

* * *

><p>By mid-afternoon, after watching Arthur chase a pig in circles around the yard, finding himself flung into a slop-filled trough for laughing, and following a frigid bath in the creek, a new change of clothes, and a forced meal of hot soup, Merlin found himself at his mother's side, heading for the market. He was struggling to carry a large basket of freshly-picked tomatoes while Hunith stopped far too often to say hello to a neighbour or friend.<p>

By the time they reached the small collection of market stalls, Merlin was panting and no longer aware of his arms.

"We'll start over there," Hunith motioned to the end of the road at a distance that appeared to Merlin to be no less than forty-thousand miles away. He shifted his load with a stifled whimper.

"Would you like some help, Merlin?"

"Me? Ahh, naw, no. I've got it," he grinned. "Just tomatoes."

Sixty pounds of ruddy tomatoes, he thought.

"Hunith, my sweet lady!" They approached the far stall where a hugely fat man with an equally enormous moustache awaited with open arms. "I expected you yesterday! My heart was breaking." He grabbed his chest to drive the point home.

"I'm sure it was, Liaddus. But my son, Merlin—"

On cue, the young warlock hobbled up and released the basket with a gasp. He crumpled to his knees next to it, head bowed and panting.

"Merlin?" Liaddus bellowed.

"_Tomatoes—!_"

Hunith forced a smile. "He's a bit peaky from traveling. Merlin, go and fetch yourself some water."

Her son grumbled and staggered off. As soon as he was out of earshot, Liaddus's pleasant face twisted into a frown. "Why is he back?"

Hunith's own face flushed red at the man's directness. She prepared to lash back but the grocer placed a heavy hand on her shoulder and continued before she had the chance.

"I know. I know he's your son and bless you, you love him. But he's _dangerous!_ He's cursed, Hunith—"

"You have no proof of that!"

"Queer things happen when he's around. Dark things. Now, granted he seems harmless enough, and I don't doubt he means well, but that boy has an evil spell on him if ever I saw one."

Hunith was fuming now. "He helped us! He brought Arthur and they fought for us—!"

"And thank the heavens Arthur was there. We all saw the strange magic that nearly thwarted his efforts."

"Thwarted—good lord, Liaddus, it was the miracle that _saved_ us."

The man shook his head so firmly that his fat cheeks wobbled back and forth. "You see what you want to see, woman. But mark my words, if that boy of yours lingers here, we'll all pay dearly for it."

"Mother?"

Liaddus and Hunith looked up as Merlin stood there, eyebrows furrowed. He looked pained.

"I don't see anything we really need here," Hunith said suddenly, turning away. "Merlin, let's move along. Good afternoon, Liaddus."

Merlin paused. Hunith pushed by him, but he stayed standing where he was, exchanging a strange look with the moustachioed grocer. The man looked hateful and afraid. After a moment, Merlin tore his gaze away, grabbed the basket, and followed after his mother.

"He thinks I'm dangerous."

"Don't take any of that to heart, Merlin," Hunith snapped.

"But what if I am? I've seen it. Magic can be dangerous. It can be unpredictable. I've seen it corrupt people—"

"You're not corrupt!"

"Mother, you have no idea! I've—I've _killed_ people—"

"_Shhhh!_" Hunith stopped suddenly, grabbing Merlin to the side of the road. A few tomatoes spilled out of the basket and rolled into a ditch. "Stop it, Merlin! Don't say things like that! You're a good boy."

"But it's true."

"You would never hurt someone for the joy of it. You want only what's best for people. I know how it pains you to see anyone suffer, Merlin. Don't listen to these people. They're afraid of their own shadows. They're bored, they're superstitious, and more importantly, they're _wrong_. Come along."

Hunith took the basket from Merlin and strode with confidence to the next stall, immediately beginning her negotiations for trade with no pause for pleasantries. Merlin held back, noting the uncomfortable glances he was receiving from this grocer as well. In fact, it was becoming apparent that every passerby was throwing him shifty looks. They muttered to each other and sped away from him. The market was filled with people, but each one was giving him a noticeably wide berth.

"Merlin, come here!"

Ever obedient, the warlock closed the gap between himself and his mother, all the while staring at his feet. He didn't see the women across the way with fruit in hand, horrible scowls on their faces. He didn't see the apple soaring through the air. He just felt the ground come up beneath him, and saw stars explode across his vision. He heard his mother screeching at his attackers, and the attackers screeching back.

"You tell him to _leave!_ Go on! We don't want you here, _devil!_"

Dizzy, Merlin crawled to his feet. He was used to being pelted by fruit, but always he had taken it with good humour. It was never much more than a silly punishment for a trivial misdeed or Arthur being a prat. It had never been about him as a person. It had never been a prejudice against his magic.

"Merlin, Merlin please don't listen to them—!"

But he wasn't listening to Hunith either. This was her home, not his. He—his kind—wasn't welcome here. He wasn't welcome anywhere.

Feeling the hot sting of blood and tears on his cheek, he stumbled off of the road and into the woods, leaving his mother's cries and the townsfolk's jeers behind him.

* * *

><p>The journey back to her hovel seemed to take twice the amount of time, despite having successfully completed her task. With the demon whispering in her head, Morgana was on edge and felt utterly exposed. Still, it had worked. She knew the identity of Emrys now, as ludicrous as it sounded.<p>

Merlin. _Merlin?_ Honestly, it pained her to think that Arthur's idiot manservant had all this time been powerful enough to do whatever he pleased, but wasted that talent protecting the future king of Camelot. She had been very lucky though, she had to admit. There was no doubt that Merlin had been intervening against her at every turn, and he could have at any time put a stop to her plans... even ended her life.

But he was a coward. He'd had his chances and he hadn't taken them. The fool had no place in court—certainly not at the king's side, if that was his plan. But the moment was perfect. Both he and Arthur were traveling. They were unprotected, and Merlin... Merlin could be dealt with.

"_Such devious thoughts. You have made me feel perfectly at home, Morgana Pendragon."_

"Stop—" Morgana hissed, moving through her hideaway to collapse on the small, dusty bed. "Stop reading my thoughts. I'd prefer they remain my own."

"_This relationship cannot work that way. I am here. I am yours to command, but you are also mine. When your life has gone, your soul shall be devoured, and I intend to keep a vigilant eye on my prize."_

Morgana shook her head, unhappy with this second being sharing her body, but knowing full well that she'd welcomed it, and the price had indeed been high. She would exploit this creature as much as she could before her time was up.

"I wish to destroy him. I want Merlin to suffer. Tell me how to do this," she demanded.

The demon laughed again, jarring her senses. Her face twisted in pain.

"_Now is the perfect time."_

Morgana clenched her hands into fists. "For _what?_"

"_Strike when your prey is at its weakest. Emrys is broken. He doubts his destiny. He doubts his _magic_. Push him further and he will _fear_ it."_

Morgana's fingers loosened. A smile spread across her face as she opened her eyes and lifted her head. She allowed her mind to open fully. She was listening intently now.

"And when Merlin fears his magic..."

"_We will help him snuff the magic out."_

"And Arthur will finally have to fight his battles alone."

Morgana laughed, standing and striding to the window. "Go to him. See that he's pushed as far as is needed."

The demon returned her laugh, and Morgana felt a rush of air as the presence lifted from her mind. Smiling, she slid down against the wall, burying her face in her arms. A moment of peace, at last. Her eyes moved to the wrapped parcel hidden just beneath the high shelves full of oddities.

"_Morgana..."_

Her head jerked upright.

"_You will be watched."_

* * *

><p>"Well, I'm bloody exhausted," Gwaine sighed, flopping down on the grass opposite Arthur. "You were right about those girls, Hunith."<p>

Merlin's mother was busying herself at the fire pit, piling logs and readying the spit. She hadn't said very much since Arthur and Gwaine had rejoined her. The knight's comment fell on deaf ears and Arthur, covered from head to toe in what he would claim was just mud, smirked at Gwaine's failed attempt to rile him.

"You know, Gwaine, I've a mind to send you to the dungeons for pursuing girls as young as those."

Sir Gwaine grinned, the secret out. "Saw them did you?"

"I saw you getting your hair braided by children." Arthur reclined back against a tree, happy to have learned earlier that Gwaine hadn't had the better day. "There's one left, by the way."

Gwaine set to work untying the leftover braid. "And I saw you fall in a pile of dung. Did you think you could hide the smell?"

Arthur glared in response, shifting, uncomfortably aware of said smell. Gwaine gave up trying to release the braid. After a moment both men began to laugh. They continued laughing until Hunith returned, the woman dragging something heavy behind her. She lifted the spit from the ground and drove it through the head of a pig. Arthur jerked in alarm, scrambling to his feet.

"A pig—!" he choked.

Hunith smacked her hands together and turned to the men. "Our dinner. Could one of you lift it over the pit?"

Arthur wasn't budging, his eyes a little hazy. Gwaine shrugged and stepped forward to assist Hunith.

"Why that pig?" Arthur asked, struggling to hide the crack in his voice.

Gwaine smiled, setting the spit in place. "Friend of yours, Arthur?"

"Of course not, how dare you."

Arthur turned away from the pig he'd shared his lunch with, the pig he'd named Hector and had considered releasing triumphantly back into the wild. Gwaine stared at the prince oddly as Arthur lost himself to slow-motion memories.

"Ah..." The knight said finally, "so, where's Merlin?"

Hunith looked up. "He's—"

"Here." Merlin wandered over, his face pale except for red-rimmed eyes. He exchanged a quick glance with his mother before sitting down as though nothing had happened. There was a visible mark on his cheek where the apple had hit him. Hunith hesitated.

"I'll... fetch some spices. Could you get the fire started?" She asked, not waiting for a reply before disappearing into the house. Gwaine was certain he was missing something, but he was also hungry for roasted pig.

"Arthur, the fire?" he offered.

"You do it."

Gwaine rolled his eyes and knelt, pulling out his sword and some flint. Merlin watched with a blank stare, his mind still drifting. He'd spent the entire afternoon out in a field, thinking, as he'd taken to doing far too often of late. People were afraid of him. Magic was still outlawed. He'd seen it do terrible things, but he'd also used it time and again to save Arthur. But Arthur was still just a prince, and still of his father's mind when it came to magic. Merlin's thoughts continued in this circle endlessly.

He felt a breeze and shivered at the sudden chill, noting that Gwaine was still struggling to get the fire lit.

"D'you need some help?" he offered.

Gwaine grinned, too proud to let a simple campfire get the best of him. "I think I can handle this myself, thanks Merlin..."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

He continued to strike the sword, and what few sparks were produced continued to extinguish before hitting the kindling.

"Doubly sure?"

Gwaine sighed and sat back. "I've got this."

Merlin felt the magic just beneath his skin, tingling and heating up and begging to be put to some use. He grinned and his eyes flashed gold. But instead of the small fire he'd intended, huge flames leapt up instead. They reached forward as though grabbing specifically for Gwaine, and before Merlin could react, the knight was falling to his side, screaming and rolling, completely engulfed in fire.


	7. Chapter 7

**This one's a little shorter, but I figured faster updates might be more appreciated than lengthy ones (or maybe I'm wrong, it's been known to happen). A bit of a warning-this one's a little graphic. Burns and whatnot. Thank you all for the awesome comments! Hope you continue to enjoy!**

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><p>"<em>Gwaine!<em>"

Arthur was on his feet and Hunith was shouting. A frantic search began for something to douse the flames. Gwaine's screams were shrill and agonized, his body kicking and jerking. He rolled through the dirt, but the fire remained.

"Water, Merlin, water!"

Merlin had been standing there seemingly watching the man burn, when in truth he had been trying desperately to use his magic to smother the blaze. Nothing was working. In fact, each whispered spell or frenzied thought seemed to be making the fire stronger.

"_Merlin!_" Hunith shrieked. The warlock looked up suddenly, ghost white, and rushed off. Arthur gave up his search and removed his tunic, risking burns to his own skin as he threw the garment down on top of his knight. He felt his skin singe and smelled the sick scent of Gwaine's burnt flesh, but the fire at last was thwarted. Arthur removed the blackened tunic and glimpsed with horror the mess of sloughed, charred, and bloodied ruin that was every inch of his friend's body. The man's eyes were hidden beneath swells of melted skin, layers of it stretched and peeling, his face a mottling of soaking red and black. The screams had died and Gwaine was panicking again, spasms wracking his frame.

Merlin returned with a bucket of water, only to find the fire no longer burning.

"It's too late for that!" Arthur shouted at him. Anger was abundant in his voice, but Merlin wasn't sure if it was directed at himself or the situation in general. He dropped the bucket and scrambled over. What he saw made bile rise in his throat.

"No, Merlin!" Arthur glimpsed Merlin going whiter still. The last thing he needed was his servant fainting on him. "Stay focused! You need to treat him!"

"No, Arthur, I c-can't—"

"You can and you _will!_ You're Gaius's ward, you know what to do!"

Even amidst the panic, Merlin couldn't help but catch the use of present tense. He was shaking his head, but Arthur was already lifting the knight. His hands slipped against the seeping tissue. "For god's sake, help me, _Mer_lin!"

The warlock made himself breathe. His heart was hammering painfully against his ribs. With effort, he grabbed Gwaine's tattered legs and helped Arthur lift him inside. Hunith had already dragged one of the cots into the front room where the light was better, fetched more water, and was soaking some cloths. Merlin stepped back, seeing a body ravaged beyond hope, unsure of what he could possibly do to help. Arthur was shouting at him again, but Merlin's mind was racing, his hearing foggy. Hunith was placing the damp cloths over the worst of burns. In one sudden movement he was pulled from his spot and pushed into a corner.

"Don't just stand there, Merlin! Do something! Help him!"

"I don't—" He caught his mother's panicked gaze. "I don't know how! Arthur—"

The prince grabbed him by the shoulders and steered him back to the cot. Gwaine was jerking, grimacing, making strange and desperate gagging sounds. Merlin started to shake. He saw flashes of memories. When the Great Dragon attacked, many of Camelot's citizens were burned. Merlin had been useless then as well. Gaius had known what to do. He hadn't paid proper attention, he'd had Arthur to worry about—

"Dammit, _Merlin!_"

"He can't breathe," the warlock said at last. "His throat's swollen up."

Arthur nodded, patted Merlin on the shoulder. "What do we do?"

"I—I don't... Gaius had to operate. He put a little wooden tube in their throats, I—" He couldn't do this. Confidence aside, he had very little knowledge of anatomy. "Arthur, I can't help him. I really can't!"

Not with medical expertise anyway. Maybe with magic. He felt the words coming unbidden to his mind, dancing on his tongue. He could say them now, but would it work? Or would his magic backfire again as it had only minutes ago? Gwaine was suffocating—he really couldn't make things worse at this point. He had seconds to make a decision.

"I'll try—I'll do what I can, Arthur. I need some room, please."

The prince paused, but conceded. "Yes. Okay. Do what you can, Merlin." With a nod and a sigh of grief and exhaustion he stepped outside.

Hunith was immediately at her son's side. "What in heaven's name _happened!_"

Merlin pushed past her, swallowing back his nerves and queasiness in order to kneel next to Gwaine's savaged body. The words were there, known without ever learning them. Something he never would have found in searching through the pages of an old book.

Oh, please let this work, he thought desperately.

"_Fulfealdan sé ceolwærc. Eáþnes sé éðgunga. __Á__bláwan!"_

Gwaine tensed, but didn't take a breath. Merlin took a few himself, trying to calm his mind. He tried again, this time angrily, as tears ran down his cheeks.

"_Fulfealdan sé ceolwærc! Eáþnes sé éðgunga! __Á__BL__Á__WAN!"_

Gwaine gasped, his body arching. Merlin scrambled to his feet. "Gwaine?"

The knight was moaning again. It was a horrible sound that wrenched at his insides, but Merlin knew it meant that he was breathing properly, at least. It was a small victory though—now his friend had to deal with the unbearable pain, and Merlin had to do what he could to treat the wounds.

"What do you need me to do?" Hunith begged.

Merlin wracked his brains. "Aloe, cone flower..." And he remembered suddenly Arthur's trick to get him to Gwen's home. "And calendula."

Hunith nodded. She'd search the market and if unsuccessful, she'd find the plants herself. As she exited the house, Arthur came back in. He'd heard Gwaine's renewed shouts of pain.

"You did it, Merlin! He's breathing again?"

Merlin continued placing the wet cloths over Gwaine's exposed flesh. "He is."

"How?" There was no tube in Gwaine's throat, that was clear enough.

Merlin hesitated. "The cold water... it eased the swelling a little." It was a stupid excuse that only someone with no knowledge of medicine would buy. As Arthur nodded, Merlin hoped the prince would never actually try that tactic on a suffocating person.

"You did well, Merlin," Arthur said after a prolonged silence. "I'm proud of you. Gaius... would be proud of you."

The warlock nodded, sniffling. He swiped at his eyes. "It's bad, Arthur. Most of the burn victims in Camelot... they never recovered."

"Gwaine is strong," the prince said. The uncomfortable silence returned. Merlin soaked and applied cloths while Arthur watched and fidgeted.

"My mother's searching for healing herbs," Merlin muttered, his focus remaining on Gwaine. "You could help her, instead of just standing there like some... cabbage-head."

Arthur snorted. "Right. I can tell when I'm not wanted, Merlin." He moved back for the door, but stopped as he placed his hand against it. He turned again to his servant. "You know... Gaius was an excellent teacher. You're good at this, Merlin. You could, if you wanted... take his place."

The prince watched as Merlin paused, his body tensing. Too soon, yet again. "Yes, well... something to think about. I'll return soon, Merlin."

Arthur left. Merlin waited, his hands shaking. When he was sure both his mother and master were gone, he doubled over. He held his face against the cloth in his grip, shuddering and sobbing.

What had he _done?_

* * *

><p>Merlin sat in a corner, staring. His mother and Arthur had returned, having been able to catch the right market vendor before the stalls were left for the night. Thankfully the plants were common enough to be regularly stocked, and Gwaine hadn't needed to wait long for his burns to be treated. After applying the mixed salves, Merlin had left, telling Hunith and Arthur that he intended to locate some lavender and valerian to keep Gwaine calm and sleeping. In truth, he just needed to escape.<p>

He'd done this to Gwaine. He didn't know how, or why, but his magic had defied him. Now the chances of the knight's recovery were slim. As much as he would like to believe Arthur, strength meant very little with burns as extensive as these.

When he returned, Arthur was asleep on the floor next to Gwaine. Merlin had administered the herbs, woken the prince in order to treat his minor burns, told Arthur to take his bed for the night, and then found a seat. He'd passed the night in uneasy contemplation. He was barely aware that the sun had risen and his mother had entered the room.

"Merlin."

He jumped. His mother sat down next to him.

"Morning," he said groggily, rubbing his dried-out eyes.

She looked at him with concern. "Please, tell me what happened."

Merlin cleared his throat and got to his feet. "You saw what happened." He wandered over to Gwaine and lifted the wet cloths and bandages. Before the burns were revealed he already knew the situation was grim. The foul, rotten smell was evidence of a bad infection. From his experiences with Gaius, he knew that meant death wasn't far away.

"He's gotten worse?" Hunith joined him, knowing from Merlin's expression that it was bad.

"Yes," Merlin choked. The muscles in his jaw twitched as he fought to remain composed.

His mother took him back to the chair and sat him down. "It was magic that did this, Merlin. I know what it looks like. I saw your eyes. Why? What went wrong?"

Her son just shook his head. He didn't have an answer. He wished that he did.

"It was an accident," she said.

"It was still my fault."

"Merlin, whatever happened, you didn't mean to—listen, you fixed his throat last night, you can heal the wounds just as easily, I'm sure of it."

Merlin laughed bitterly. "That was just as much of an accident. I'm no good with healing magic, mother. I never have been."

"So you won't try? You'll do nothing?"

He didn't like the hidden accusations behind her words. "I _have_ tried!" He opened his mouth to say something else, but he had no idea how to explain the way he was feeling. His magic was always so useless when it actually counted. His magic failed to save the ones he cared about most. He was sick of having all of this power and nothing to show for it. What was the point? Gwaine would die and it would be another friend lost because he failed to be the great sorcerer he was expected to be.

Merlin got to his feet, angrily heading for the door.

"Merlin! I didn't mean to say—please, come back!"

He shut the door without looking back, and headed once again out of Ealdor.

He wasn't going to let this happen again.


	8. Chapter 8

**Phew, here's the next one folks! Sorry for the wait-college is a cruel mistress. But thanks again for all of the comments and encouragement! Hope you enjoy...**

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><p>"<em>Cuman æt mec draca! Ic bebodræden unc, Kilgharrah, unc néadhæs mec!"<em>

He shouted the words in the powerful, commanding tone that always overtook him when he summoned the Great Dragon. He'd been unable to find a clearing far enough from the superstitious eyes of the townsfolk, so Merlin had climbed a rocky outcropping at the edge of a small forest.

His eyes were streaming, and normally he would feel embarrassed to be caught in such a state in front of someone as ancient and wise as Kilgharrah, but right now the warlock wasn't thinking about anything but the immediate need of his sick and dying friend.

The dragon didn't take long. He never did; a fact that always puzzled Merlin to some extent. The ground trembled under the creature's weight as he landed.

"Summoning me in the middle of the day, Merlin? I hope this is worth such a terribly large risk."

The dragon folded his wings, and then noted the young man's cowered posture and the way his body shook as he sobbed. Kilgharrah's eyes narrowed.

"What is troubling you so, young warlock?"

"My magic—" Merlin choked out. "I've done something. Something horrible. I hadn't meant to, but the spell... it backfired or—or got out of control—and now he's dying!"

"He?" The Great Dragon pulled his large neck backward, the unease evident on his old face. It was clear that he expected unhappy news related to Arthur, as had become customary. Merlin shook his head.

"Gwaine. I started a fire—it swallowed him—the burns are infected and my spells aren't working and he'll be dead soon if I don't find a way to heal him—"

The dragon chuckled. "Is that all? The drunken knight?"

"He's my _friend!_" Merlin spat.

Kilgharrah paused, staring down at the boy with all seriousness. The news of Lancelot and Gaius's death could not have escaped his knowing. Merlin had had only a few spare friends he'd trusted with his secret, and with them gone, he was left with only the likes of Arthur and his knights. The Great Dragon could understand the need for such attachments. He himself had been alone for so very long.

"Calm down, Merlin. I will help you." He lowered his snout in order to sniff the warlock. Merlin jumped back in surprise. The young man smelled of pain, sorrow, anger... he sensed hunger and sickness, and the charred stench of Gwaine's injuries. He also smelled something more troubling.

"Besides this fire, and your attempts to heal Sir Gwaine, when was the last time you used your magic, young warlock?"

Merlin's eyes darted. He hadn't been using it. He'd been in such a state of confliction over his magic that he'd chosen to ignore it. He'd been angry with it—for the pain it had caused to so many—for the trouble it caused _him_ on a daily basis. And now just the thought of harnessing his powers made him uneasy. No one else could be allowed to suffer as Gwaine had.

"I suppose by your silence you mean to say that it has been a long time."

"Not really since Lancelot's death..." Merlin finally admitted.

The dragon frowned. "Neglecting your magic is dangerous, Merlin. This could be the reason for your spell going so wrong."

"Other sorcerers can suppress their magic," Merlin shot back. "After Uther's purging of all magic, many of them had to stop. What of them?"

Kilgharrah smiled. "A skill corrodes and is forgotten if not practiced, but you are different, Merlin. Your magic is as much a function of your body as breathing. If you hold your breath for too long—"

"I set someone on fire?"

The dragon grinned. "Well, _I_ might." He heaved a sigh. "Why are you ignoring your magic, young warlock?"

Merlin didn't feel like answering that question, but it seemed his expression of grief was enough of an answer for the Great Dragon. Kilgharrah nodded and took a few steps back.

"I will give you a spell to heal the knight."

Merlin looked up with his eyes wide.

"But," the dragon warned, "you must promise me that you will keep breathing, Merlin."

The young man paused, a nervous smile on his lips. After a moment he forced a nod. Kilgharrah returned it, and then bent low to breathe forth the ancient incantation.

* * *

><p>Merlin felt as though he could fly home. He was running fast enough to have come close a few times, particularly as he made his way back down the rocks. The spell was whirling around in his mind, ancient and formidable, sparking with the power to heal. The feel of raw life swirling beneath his skin and aching to be used was enough to lift his spirits and forgive his magic.<p>

He had to stop himself as he neared home, before his eagerness got the better of him. A few fallen berries hastily snatched from the dirt would serve as adequate enough cover. When he stepped through the door to his house, he was thrown out again by two strong arms.

"Merlin, where have you _been?_" Arthur demanded. "Gwaine's much worse. He's burning up with fever and moaning in pain and I can't do anything more than give him water, which of course is rejected because all he wants is ale! How could you leave me here like that?"

"You mean leave _him_ here?"

"Obviously, _Mer_lin. And wipe that foolish smile off of your face!"

Merlin pushed past the prince, holding up the fistful of useless berries. "For your information, I left to find Gwaine a miracle cure, and I have!"

Arthur snorted. "Those look like poisonous forest berries, Merlin."

"Ah, well, you would think that, wouldn't you? Being the amateur herbalist that you are."

"Right. And those berries will cure him? Just like that?"

Merlin didn't have to glance back at Arthur to know that he was giving him that trademark how-did-I-end-up-befriending-this-ridiculous-idiot look. "They will, _your highness_, if I'm left in peace to administer them properly."

Arthur rolled his eyes and turned to the door. "Fine, Merlin. As it happens, I was just leaving to find something proper to eat. Your mother's porridge has left my insides full of splinters."

"A prince's life is just one hardship after another, sire."

Arthur's eyes narrowed. "And you can be sure that most of those hardships come in the form of grinning idiots with overlarge ears."

Merlin was still grinning like an idiot after Arthur had left. He made his way over to Gwaine, sure that the Great Dragon's spell would work. Kilgharrah had always been there to save him when the situation grew dire. And as he looked at the knight now, the warlock knew Gwaine's was as dire as it could get. The man was covered in a mixed sheen of sweat and seeping infection, and the smell was bad enough that Merlin had to pull his neckerchief up over his nose.

"You're back!" Hunith breathed, rushing over to him when she came into the room. "I'm sorry Merlin, I hadn't meant to hurt you—"

Merlin turned and hugged her tightly. "I know, mother." He pulled back. "Everything is all right now. I've got a spell that will heal Gwaine, I'm sure of it."

His mother's eyes fell to his cupped hand. "And it uses poisonous forest berries?"

"What?" Merlin looked down. "Oh, those. No, ha-ha, those are just..." he dropped them, the berries rolling off next to a wall, "Arthur pacifiers. Come, I'll show you."

Merlin's eager gait toward his friend's bedside and the way he rubbed his hands together in preparation brought a smile to Hunith's face. She was again filled with pride for her son. His abilities were something special and fantastic, and his character was one strong enough to cope with everything that came with that responsibility. Even in the face of so many tragedies and traumas, Merlin managed to keep his head, overcome his fears, and do what needed to be done for the good of the world and the people he loved.

He looked up at her, blue eyes twinkling, crooked smile forming. He spoke a string of words she could never understand, and saw those blue eyes flash an impressive gold. There seemed to form an energy in the air then, something that caused her hair to frizz and stand on end. Before her eyes she witnessed Gwaine's burns tremble, the infection bubbling. At first it seemed as though the wounds were worsening; growing. And then, as the vile pus and blood rose, the skin began to mend. In oily beads, the corruption rolled off of the knight's body and splattered on the floor. Merlin jumped back to avoid the filth, concentrating his efforts on mending every last inch of damaged flesh. Then, somewhere in the back of his mind, the warlock could have sworn he'd heard laughter—

Hunith grabbed his arm. "Stop. Not too much."

"What?" Merlin knitted his brows. "There's still more—"

"Too many questions will be asked, Merlin. Let the spell continue on its own, slowly. If Arthur sees him entirely mended when he returns, there will be no doubt that magic was used."

Merlin frowned, but he knew his mother was right. He gave a nod as his eyes were drawn to the mess on the floor. He swallowed back vomit at the smell of it.

"Ugh—m'sorry—" he muttered through his sleeve. "I'll clean it up."

"It's no bother Merlin, you've done enough. I'll take care of this. Fetch some more water for your friend. He's bound to wake soon."

Her son smiled a smile that seemed to reach his eyes even when it wasn't genuine. But she could tell. In that moment, Merlin was happy.

* * *

><p>"I still can't believe it."<p>

They sat in the front room in a circle, enjoying some stew. Arthur couldn't help but cast frequent skeptical glances in Gwaine's direction. The knight was sitting upright in bed, the burns on his body bandaged and on the mend as he dug into his dinner. They had looked so clean that the prince was left wondering if they would even scar.

"Believe it, mate," Gwaine grinned, his hair and beard singed and patchy, but his face again recognizable as the foxy, playful rogue. "Takes more than being engulfed in flames to thwart the likes of me."

Merlin couldn't wipe the smile from his face and Arthur couldn't help but notice.

"And you did this with berries?" he asked in a monotone.

Merlin swallowed and looked at the floor. "Very hard to find berries."

"How do they work?"

"They, ah... absorb. The infection. I made a paste, laid it out, and the, ah... juices, they're very..." he cleared his throat, "unique."

Arthur frowned, not understanding, and stabbed a hunk of potato. "And Gaius taught you this?"

"Yup," Merlin pursed his lips, trying to look unassuming. "It's very complicated and technical."

"Best not to ask questions of healers," Gwaine grinned. "You might get an answer."

"And it's hardly dinner conversation, is it?" Hunith smiled, rising to collect their bowls.

Merlin was in the process of getting up to help his mother with the dishes with he heard a shout from outside, followed by a scream. All eyes wandered to the door, the room's occupants frozen in the moment.

"I'll check it out," Arthur stated, charging the door. Merlin scrambled after him.

There was movement in the darkness, down the road and between the nearest houses. Something was sprawled in the dirt and attracting a growing crowd of onlookers. Arthur and Merlin exchanged glances of confusion before following suit, Merlin hanging back a little so as not to again be ousted by the villagers.

"Did you see what caused it?"

"I just talked to him an hour ago—"

Arthur joined the crowd, went rigid, and looked back at Merlin. The prince's expression was one of shock, but there was a strange questioning in his eyes as well. The warlock watched as the young Pendragon spoke for a moment with one of the townspeople. The wait was painful, but eventually Arthur was trudging back.

Merlin was almost afraid to ask. "What? What happened?"

"A dead man," Arthur stated, pushing past. Merlin couldn't help but feel that Arthur was mad at him for some reason.

"Dead? How?"

Arthur's eyes narrowed further. "Burns. He was covered in burns."

Merlin stopped, his blood running cold. His voice was hard to find again. "Wh-who?"

He followed at an uneasy pace, Arthur only slowing when he reached the house again. He turned back to Merlin as his hand found the door handle.

"A grocer named Liaddus."


	9. Chapter 9

**What's this? Prompt update? Aw yeah, it is! Had fun with this one. And things are surely to get even more exciting from here (which probably doesn't bode well for poor little Merlin). Thanks as usual for the comments! Enjoy, my friends.**

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><p>Shovel in, shovel out. Heave, turn, twist, thrust. The process of mucking out the pigsty had become so ingrained now that it was almost an automatic function, but Arthur would never admit that he was actually getting accustomed to living this way. His father, his knights, the royal court, and particularly his idiot manservant would never allow him to hear an end to their teasing.<p>

Currently his only available knight was 'making deliveries', but Arthur knew that translated into nothing more than flirting with the farrier's daughter, flirting with the smithy's daughter, flirting with the butcher's daughter, and then spending the rest of the day getting drunk in the tavern, making confessions, and consequently fighting it out with their fathers. As for his idiot manservant, Arthur was once again at a loss for how to deal with him. Since Gwaine had been healed, Merlin had once again curled in on himself. He was awake and wandering off before anyone had a chance to speak to him in the mornings, and stumbling in sullen and exhausted long after everyone else had gone to bed at night. Arthur might have expected the young man to despair worse than ever had Gwaine succumbed to his injuries, but the knight was healing splendidly and Merlin was acting as though a rain cloud were affixed above his head.

The whole affair with Gwaine's injury, rapid recovery, and the death of the grocer had bothered the prince, though he couldn't say exactly why. It was certain to be a simple case of odd coincidences, but he just couldn't shake the image of Gwaine's serious burns, and how very closely the grocer's wounds had resembled them.

He pushed the wagon of filth out across the pasture, spotting Merlin as he wandered down the road toward the forest. Arthur felt like shouting after him, chasing him down, demanding an answer. No—not an answer. He'd just demand that Merlin stop acting so... _un_-Merlin! Loathe as he was to admit it, he missed his servant's stupid insolence and stupid insults and stupid—_stupidity_. But Arthur simply stood there, looking perplexed and angry, covered up to his knees with pig manure.

The things he did for his people.

"You there!"

Arthur turned to see a spindly old man leaning against the fence. He raised an eyebrow in response.

"D'ye need some 'elp, sire? I 'ate ter see the prince o' Camelot shovelin' pig shit while a filthy commoner th' likes o' me looks on."

The prince forced a smile. "It's no trouble, my good man, truly." He grunted as he pushed the wagon along toward that terrible heap at the end of the yard. The old man followed at an easy pace.

"I find meself wonderin', what _would_ bring a prince like yerself ter some desperate ruddy li'le disgrace of a village like ours in the firs' place, I do indeed."

Arthur tossed the muck onto the pile, wiped his sweaty brow, and then glared in disgust at the stains on his hands, which, by the smell of it, were now staining his face as well. "Well, sir, a prince does like to show that he's... not above understanding the trials of the common labouring man."

"That so! Well that's a fine thing, i'nnit?" The man smiled toothlessly. Arthur nodded back, his own smile faltering.

"So it ain't got nothin' ter do with that cursed li'le wretch Merlin?"

Arthur frowned. "Be careful, sir."

The old man threw up his hands. Arthur might have left it at that, but his curiousity got the better of him.

"And what do you mean '_cursed_'?"

The old man grinned, crossing his arms along the top of the fence and resting his stubbly chin over them in an almost conspiratorial way. He spoke low, forcing the prince to step closer in order to hear.

"They say 'is mother bed with th' devil 'imself. An' what came next was a child o' righ' evil."

"That's ridiculou—"

"We all known that Merlin weren't right from real early on. Crops failed more of'en 'en not, children what picked on 'im got 'urt and sick. Beasts we ain' never seen started ter nose around. _Magic_, sire." Arthur's eyes couldn't help but widen at that. "He brought it to Ealdor like an ant ter sugar. An' I'll wager me remainin' teeth yer life's been a big mess o' strangeness an' misfortune since 'e showed up at poor Camelot's castle doors."

The old man smiled, but Arthur continued to frown. It took him a few moments to find the words he wanted.

"Merlin has only ever served me loyally. He has had every opportunity to bring harm to me or my father. I... I trust him."

"_Do_ you?"

Arthur wasn't sure why he felt a sudden hesitation. The old man's stare was odd and cold. "Yes. Of course. With my life."

Laughter answered him. Cruel laughter. The prince turned away from the man with irritation, wiping his hands across his breeches. No, he would never doubt Merlin's intentions, and to think of him as _evil_ was laughable. Arthur had never known anyone more honest and forthright. Merlin couldn't keep a secret if his life depended on it.

But there was a nagging feeling that lingered. Magic. Strangeness. It _had_ seemed to follow Merlin's arrival in Camelot. He hadn't recalled his life ever being near as dangerous or anywhere as exciting before taking on the manservant. One thing or another at all times seemed to be out for Arthur's blood, his downfall, his humiliation; the total collapse of his great kingdom. A person could say the prince's luck had been quite consistently terrible the last few years.

_No_, he thought. _Merlin has only ever meant me well._

He looked up to confront the horrible little man again, but found the road now devoid of life.

* * *

><p>Merlin ran. He had to get away; far enough away so as not to draw attention. And as he rushed through the forest, his surroundings began to change. Trees had been felled there; rocks overturned, underbrush and dead leaves and other debris were recently disturbed and sitting in all manner of odd arrangement. The forest looked worse and worse, as though an enormous animal had plowed its way through, uncaring of the mess it left in its wake. The warlock reached the end of the path of destruction and fell forward on his hands and knees, shouting at everything around him.<p>

"_Á__BRECAN! __Á__bláwan út beinnan beadumægen! __Ábrecan! Á__BRECAN!_"

An explosion of power sent every nearby tree splintering outward. Rocks lifted and flew off in a wave.

"_Sé byre áblæwaþ!_"

Around him a powerful wind built and swirled with Merlin at its center, tossing around dirt, leaves, rocks, and wooden shrapnel, growing in intensity the louder the warlock yelled. Above the forest, dark clouds swam together, connecting with the twister on the ground. The rumble of thunder shook the forest floor, but Merlin was numb and blinded by his own outraged creation. He choked on his words, a sob rising in his throat. A now familiar, mocking laughter filled his mind. It took the brilliant flash of a lightning bolt just yards away to jar Merlin free of his rampage.

The winds died in the air, the lifted debris falling to the earth like hellish snowflakes. Merlin sat on his knees on a mound, surrounded by a ditch carved out by the miniature tornado. He was struggling to catch his breath, tears on his cheeks, the anger gone from his eyes.

For the last several days it had been this way, and seemed to be getting progressively worse. Heeding Kilgharrah's advice, Merlin had left for the forest each morning and tried to burn away some of the built-up magic. It had started innocently enough, but then his emotions began to take hold of him. His magic was suddenly being fueled by anger and desperation, and as great a release as it was to rid himself of those feelings, the results were now beginning to scare him.

What was happening to his magic? What was happening to _him?_

He crawled forward, stood, and stumbled. He felt so drained. His head throbbed.

Was this what happened to Morgana? Allowing anger and magic to mingle... it was all too dangerous. He had to stop. Something about him was broken, and this method of fixing it was just making matters worse. Kilgharrah had meant to help him, but now Merlin wasn't so sure this was just a simple case of neglected magic.

When Arthur had mentioned the manner of death that night, that Liaddus had died from _burns_, Merlin had rushed over to see for himself. The state of the man had been uncannily similar to Gwaine's. Merlin had somehow healed one man and killed another. How could the Great Dragon have not mentioned this? Did he know it would happen, or had Merlin's magic turned on him once again? The thought had set his mind racing anew. Was his magic truly corrupting him? Was he becoming a danger? Had the people of Ealdor been right about him all along?

And _this_...

Merlin looked around him, at the results of the sheer destructive force of his magical power. He cringed backward, wanting to put some distance between himself and this new sick side of his magic. Stumbling, he headed back through the maimed and ruined forest. He made a vow not to return there again.

* * *

><p>Arthur found himself alone in Merlin's house, sweeping the floor and thinking sourly of what a ridiculous idea it had been to claim he'd come here for some relaxing time off. His back ached, his hands were starting to callous, and the smell—good lord the <em>smell<em>. He sighed and thought of better times; feather pillows and hot baths. Feasts and parties and stealing a kiss from Gwen. Hunting with his knights and laughing at Merlin when he inevitably fell off of his horse. Laughing again when an animal they hunted inevitably turned on Merlin and chased him off. Laughing once more when, inevitably, the stew ran out too quickly for Merlin to get a taste.

The prince smiled and walked to the wall, setting the broom against it. His eyes drifted downward and noticed a few dark objects sitting where Gwaine's sickbed had been. He bent to retrieve them, and had only just realized what they were when he heard the sound of a murmuring crowd outside the door.

Merlin emerged from the woods at the same time Arthur came marching out of the house. They both saw the mob at the same time, and just as quickly found the familiar shape stumbling away from it.

"_Mother!_" Merlin shouted and ran forward.

Arthur charged the crowd that was advancing on Hunith. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Stay still, witch!"

"Tie her arms and legs!"

Merlin and Arthur both rushed in at the same time to stop anyone from laying a hand on Hunith. The people had good enough sense not to try overpowering Prince Arthur, but Merlin was cast aside roughly and kicked out of the way. Gwaine shoved a path forward through the crowd and took his place at Arthur's side.

"You want to harm an unarmed woman, you go through us first," the knight growled.

Arthur wished he'd had his sword handy. It hadn't exactly seemed necessary for scooping pig poop. "Explain yourselves! What has she done to deserve this attack?"

One of the villagers stepped forward. "Hunith was witnessed today performing an incantation over the carcass of a pig! The clouds swirled unnaturally above her head and we saw her eyes glow _gold!_"

Merlin managed to squirm his way forward. "She did no such thing!"

"And at that very moment, every pen and pasture in the town had one animal drop down dead. Who knows what sort of evil pact she's made against us? For her own prosperity I expect!"

"This is insane!" Merlin protested, eyes darting to Arthur for some help.

"All along we thought it was the boy, when it was the _mother!_"

"_Witch!_"

"_Sorceress!_"

Arthur took a step forward. "You've made a mistake! Your eyes have played tricks! Surely you can't think this good woman, a friend to all of you, would do something so terrible?"

"Aye, he's right," Gwaine jumped in. "There was an odd storm earlier, I saw it, but Hunith was doing the washing. I saw her myself."

"She would have you believe her to be innocent!"

"Great horns, she had! And teeth sharp as _needles!_"

"A tail, _a forked tail_—I swear it to be true!"

"Casting misfortune on us for _years!_"

The crowd was closing in, grabbing for Hunith's arms. Arthur and Gwaine could only do so much to hold them back as they were pinned to the pasture fence.

"_STOP!_" Merlin snarled. "Stand back! Leave her alone! It was me! _I did it!_"

The crowd parted a little, going quiet. All eyes turned to Merlin's anguished face.

"I have _magic!_ It was me! Keep away from my mother!" He staggered back a bit, feeling a rush to his head. What was he doing? It wasn't supposed to happen like this. "It was just a bit of a joke, all right? I didn't mean any harm."

"Didn't mean any _harm?_"

The villagers erupted in a renewed fury.

"A _joke_, 'e says!"

"_Killed my horse!_"

"_String him up!_"

Merlin felt fit to faint as the furious mob closed in around him.


	10. Chapter 10

**'Tis a wee bit angsty, this one! But hopefully it is the good sort of angst the Merlin fans search for so very ravenously. Yum yum. More to come!**

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><p>Arthur stood, dumbfounded. The bellowing sound of furious townsfolk registering as nothing more than a muffled ringing, and Gwaine's shaking of his shoulder no more than a result of the afternoon breeze. It was Hunith's shrill screaming that successfully grabbed his attention.<p>

"Merlin, don't _do_ this! _Get away from him now!_ Away, _all of you!_"

She was held back by two burly men as the rest of the mob shoved Merlin onto the ground. Arthur saw Gwaine's face contort with rage as he abandoned all knightly pretenses and shot forth like an animal, savagely fighting tooth and nail to get to his young friend, who was now being kicked around like a brittle doll.

Arthur shook his head. "Enough!" he shouted. The chaos continued, and he felt his heart race a little as the realization set in that his closest friend was in very real trouble.

"_ENOUGH!_" The prince moved forward. "I COMMAND YOU TO _CEASE!_"

Enough of the townspeople looked up at that to allow Gwaine the chance he needed to drag the bloodied Merlin aside. One of them stepped forward, face red.

"This isn't your kingdom to command, Arthur of _Camelot!_"

"My father has his own methods for dealing with magic, as you all well know, and the sorcerer is a resident of our kingdom. He will be dealt with by King Uther.

Merlin looked up, blood trickling from his nose and mouth and a great deal more from a wound on his head. _The sorcerer?_ He felt his stomach twist. All of his greatest fears were coming true in that moment. His secret was out, and Arthur had turned against him. The prince, the man Merlin had sworn to protect, would see his father's laws upheld and his manservant punished by fire.

He felt all of the fight go out of him as Gwaine dragged him to his feet, the knight supporting most of the warlock's meager weight. Arthur moved towards them, his eyes fixed on the crowd. For the moment, none were advancing.

"Word of this will reach our own king," the same villager spat.

Arthur gave him a single stern nod. "King Lot can take it up with my father, should he not agree with how the boy was dealt with. We will leave you all in peace. Go back to your homes and consider the matter closed."

The prince's voice was steady and direct and at once the assembled townspeople began to disperse, apparently contended that the smiling boy who had grown up among them would soon be burned alive. The last and angriest of the villagers remained to scowl, finally releasing Hunith to scramble after her son.

"Go collect our supplies and our horses," Arthur muttered to Gwaine. "We'll have to leave at once."

Gwaine obeyed, but he gave Arthur the same scowl the people of Ealdor had given Merlin. Off to his side, Hunith had her only child caught up in a tight embrace. Merlin was feebly hugging back, and there was a glazed look in his eyes. She pulled back and fussed with his injuries.

"Why would you do that Merlin? _Why?_" she sobbed.

Merlin simply shook his head. It took him a long while to bring his gaze up to meet hers. "How could I not, mother?"

"I'm coming with you!" Hunith turned to face the prince. "I'll not see him mistreated! I'll speak to the king of this! Merlin's done nothing wrong, _nothing_—"

"You'll stay here," Arthur snapped back. "Trying to defend a magic-user in Uther's court will only assure that you join Merlin on the pyre."

"Then so be it!"

"Mother, no," Merlin winced. "You must stay in Ealdor. Please—I'll... I'll be all right. You have to stay."

Hunith shook her head, eyes wide and alarmed. The prince turned to her, taking her gently by the arm, and steered her off back toward the house. Merlin couldn't bring himself to watch. It was likely the last time he would see her. He slumped to the ground, exhausted and sore, and sat there in a daze. He couldn't say how much time had passed before Arthur and Gwaine were coming back, leading the horses.

"Arthur..." Merlin tried, but his voice was choked. The prince passed him by without a second glance.

"Now's not the best time, mate," Gwaine said under his breath. He pulled Merlin up and wiped the blood away from his friend's eyes. A few moments later, the three were riding away from Ealdor in silence, Merlin flanked by the only two people left in Camelot he'd been sure he could depend on the most.

The thick silence lasted the rest of the day. Merlin's normally rushing mind had come to a halt. He was facing the end now, so nothing more really mattered. Magic had constantly threatened Arthur, magic had, under the guise of being used for good, tried to save him time and again, but magic had only made things worse. Magic had killed far too many, and ruined the lives of many others, Merlin's chief among the list of those affected. He supposed he could easily use it to save himself from the fire, but what then? Where would he go, without his purpose and his destiny? No. If this was to be his punishment, then he would accept it. Whatever hope he'd had left in him had fizzled away.

They made camp in a small clearing, the old trees close and suffocating. Merlin dutifully made a fire and fed the horses before sitting himself down away from the others, legs drawn up close under his chin.

Gwaine looked over from his task of unwrapping the provisions. "Merlin, mate. Come have some food."

Merlin shook his head. When no other requests followed, he assumed that was the end of it. Then abruptly, Arthur appeared in front of him and shoved a plate of bread and fruit at Merlin's scrawny leg shield.

"Eat. I won't have you starving yourself again over this, _Mer_lin."

The tone of his voice was devoid of hate, but the warlock was wary. He curled further into himself. "Why waste it? I'll be dead soon anyway. Less of me to burn, in the end."

Arthur stared at him, almost sorrowfully. This was quickly followed by the prince cuffing him in the side of the head. "I'm not going to _burn_ you, you _idiot_."

"Ow! What?"

"Do you honestly think that I believe you—Merlin the _bumbling,_ useless servant—could be some great and powerful _sorcerer?_ If I'm to punish you for anything, it'll be for assuming I'm that _stupid_."

Merlin blinked, his blank mind having gone even blanker. "You're not going to kill me?"

Arthur laughed. "For saying something foolish to save your mother, Merlin? Who do you take me for? I would have done the same. Most men would."

Merlin felt the urge to smile, but he was still too surprised. "What about my mother? She's going to think I'm heading back to Camelot to die—"

"I talked with your mother. She agrees, Camelot is the safest place for you. For whatever reason, the people of Ealdor think you're some sort of cursed monster. You can't go back there, Merlin. Ever. You understand that?"

The servant nodded. The vacant expression returned. Arthur knew he was back to _thinking_ again.

"Stop that. It's over, Merlin, and you're both safe."

Merlin sighed, still feeling uneasy and sick over the whole ordeal. Arthur stared at him. The prince wasn't leaving. Clearly something was still bothering him. Far off, Merlin heard it again—the evil laughter. Mocking laughter.

"Safe enough, in any case. You're no sorcerer, Merlin, but I don't think you're entirely innocent."

The laughter grew louder. Merlin's eyes darted. "Wh-what do you mean?"

Arthur turned and rummaged through a little bag at his waist. He held out his hand, palm up, and Merlin's heart stopped. In the prince's possession were the little forest berries collected several days ago; the berries that had supposedly been ground into a paste and used to cure Gwaine's burns.

"How did you cure Gwaine?" Arthur's blue eyes locked themselves on his servant, awaiting an explanation. Merlin's mouth opened and closed soundlessly.

"Was it a spell? I know of Gaius's past, Merlin. Did he teach you some healing incantation? Did you find a book and think to try it out? This was not some miraculous recovery. And it backfired, didn't it? Liaddus—"

"No!" Merlin's mind finally picked up and fired off running. One moment he was facing death, and then he was safe, and now similar accusations were flying at him once again. Surely Arthur would forgive him for resorting to magic to save a close friend? If Arthur could understand risking his life to save a loved one, couldn't he accept that Merlin had done the same for the knight? No, no, he couldn't let Arthur know. He couldn't admit to having any grasp of magic. He had to maintain that image of the bumbling, useless servant. Especially now.

"I didn't do it. Not me directly..." he sighed, a lie forming in his head. Arthur frowned.

"Who did it then?"

Merlin said the first name that made sense. "Liaddus. He said he could cure Gwaine. I—I didn't know what else to do, Arthur. He wanted gold. I told him you'd pay if he'd fix Gwaine. I didn't know it was going to be magic—I was desperate—and then it worked... and the death... I—something went wrong."

Arthur's eyes narrowed. "That's why you've been acting so strangely."

"Y-yes. That's why." Merlin averted his gaze. "Gwaine's my friend, Arthur. I couldn't let him die like that."

A long moment passed. Arthur pursed his lips, expression still unhappy, mulling over the information. Eventually, he nodded and shuffled to his feet. "I understand why you did it Merlin, and I'm glad Gwaine came out of it okay."

Merlin sensed a 'but' forthcoming.

"But," Arthur glared, "promise my gold to anyone again and I _will_ bring you before my father for punishment."

Merlin's blood was running cold now. His heart was fluttering. He gave a meek nod in response.

"Now stop being a girl, Merlin, and eat something. You're pale as a sheet. I don't want to deal with you falling off your horse tomorrow and breaking your neck, even if that will likely save me a small fortune in the future."

Arthur trudged back to the fire, leaving Merlin in more of a state than he'd started in. As the warlock moved a trembling hand toward the bread, the laugh sounded once again, sharp and painful in his head. Fighting back a sob of sheer frustration, Merlin buried his head in his arms and shook.


	11. Chapter 11

**Two updates in two days, awww, yeah! And thanks for the comments everyone! They always make me smile.**

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><p>There was no chance of Merlin sleeping that night. For hours he had been tossing and turning on the hard ground, the events of the past week rolling over and over again in his mind. Gwaine's near-fatal burning, the spell from Kilgharrah backfiring and taking an innocent man's life, the way his magic acted when it was fueled so solidly by anger and despair, that this same magic resulted in the accusations against his mother, and, of course, coming so close to revealing his secret to Arthur. Though he'd discovered it had all been an act, he couldn't help but believe the prince would behave the same way were Merlin's powers truly discovered.<p>

Magic. It all came back to magic. Useful sometimes, but a headache more often than not. He'd always convinced himself that by utilizing his power for good, he was separated from all of the sorcerers who sought to do Camelot harm; from those who used it for power, for money, for prolonged life. But what if it wasn't the person? What if Uther had been right all along? What if it really was the magic that corrupted them in the end?

The warlock rolled forward and crawled to his feet, tired of laying there battling with his thoughts. He quietly crept off through the ancient forest, leaving Arthur and Gwaine sleeping like a couple of big dumb rocks, the lucky sods. Merlin found the forest eerily silent in a thick, almost tangible way. He could hear his own footfalls, the noise dying the moment the heavy forest took it, but of birds or insects there was nothing. It didn't help much in his quest for a distraction.

As if hearing his plea, a diversion came again in the form of quiet laughter. Merlin picked up his pace, as though he might outrun it. What was happening to him? The voice was so evil, so sinister, so set on his despair. The further he ran and the more desperate his thoughts became, the louder was the laughter's intensity. Was this his magic rebelling again? Was it intending to drive him mad? Or was this the beginning of his fall into darkness? Was everyone who played with magic destined for villainy?

But he'd been born with this! Did that count for nothing? Or did it just make him that much more a conduit for depravity? The laughter answered him, sharp and foul.

_Maybe I should just tell Arthur_, Merlin thought. _Leave it up to him to decide what to do with me._

He ran until his lungs were burning, his head a dizzy rush of adrenaline. Merlin fell against a tree, clutching it with white fingers. His watery gaze fell forward and hit on something strange.

It was a flickering glow, coming from within a dark tent of purple fabric. It looked as though it had been pitched only moments ago, but Merlin found the warmth from within quite appealing. He pulled himself from the tree and approached the suspicious shelter.

"Hello?" He found that his voice died in the air just as quickly.

There was silence, but he heard a shuffling coming from within the tent. He paused, rethinking this decision. The laughter returned, growing in strength, threatening to burst his eardrums. Merlin winced and took a step back.

"Hello, Emrys."

He stopped in his tracks. People who knew him as Emrys were either very close friends and protectors, or the worst of his enemies.

"Who's there? Wh-who are you?"

"A friend. Please, come inside Emrys. I mean you no harm."

No, of course not, they never meant him any harm until they were harming him. Merlin bit his lip and looked left and right over his shoulders. The mysterious voice from the tent coupled with the mysterious voice laughing in his head was not at all encouraging him to pursue this course any further. As the laughing began to cause him physical pain, an old woman hobbled out of the tent. As soon as Merlin looked at her, the laughing ceased.

She was gnarled and thin and bent over a cane, old enough to have made Gaius look like a spry young chap. But her eyes were gentle and her smile as warm as the fiery glow coming from within the tent. She had stopped the voice from assaulting his mind. Merlin felt immediately at ease.

"You've been through many great ordeals, Emrys. Come inside and perhaps I might calm your mind."

Merlin found himself oddly eager to oblige. Wordless, he followed the old woman. Inside, the tent was a motley assortment of artifacts, crystals, bells, beads, and colourful orbs. Sheets of multi-coloured silk hung outward from a center post, at the base of which was set a little iron table and two blocks of wood for chairs.

"Sit, sit!" the woman smiled, shuffling her tiny feet to the fire. "Would you care for some tea? Lovely herbal tea. Quite calming."

"Oh," Merlin pried his eyes away from a shelf of rune-covered odds and ends. "Yes, thank you."

She hummed as she collected the kettle and hobbled back again. Merlin sat, the makeshift seat very low to the ground so his long legs barely fit under the table. The old woman filled two small mugs and took her own seat.

"Now there, isn't that nice?" she sipped from her mug, sporting a smile that almost caused her eyes to close.

Merlin nodded, finding the tea acted quickly to settle his stomach and warm his insides. He was feeling markedly better than he had been back at the campsite.

"You drink that up while I tell your fortune."

Merlin snorted. "My fortune?"

"Well yes, my boy, that is what we fortune-tellers do best, after all. Those of us that have the gift of foresight, in any case. I'm no con-artist traveling with a mummer's troupe, no indeed. I don't ask for anything in return, except for those who listen to mind my words."

"Did you know I was coming then?" Merlin asked, putting down his mug.

The laugh-lines overtook the woman's eyes once more. "Of course, Emrys. What a silly place to pitch my tent otherwise. Now, your fortune—"

"I know my future," Merlin interjected. "Kilgharrah and the druids have already told me. They can't stop telling me."

"Have they? They've told you everything?"

"Well," Merlin stared at his lap. "Everything might be stretching it a bit."

"Have they told you about your darkest trial?"

Merlin looked up, eyes narrowed. The old woman bowed her head.

"Have they told you about the madness that's to take you? Did they tell you when your magic would start to turn you toward darker deeds, Emrys?"

The voice in Merlin's head chose that moment to chuckle, and all the warmth once again slipped away from his body.

"It's true then?" Merlin choked. "My magic's turning bad? It's turning _me_ bad?"

The old woman opened her eyes and he saw that they were glowing white-gold. She raised her hands toward the ceiling. "This is just the beginning. Your power is great, but it will spiral out of control. Your magic will seek to destroy others. You will turn on your friends, you will turn on Camelot. You will betray your prince."

Merlin swallowed hard. His fears were true, then. But, no, wait, this all went against what the Great Dragon and the druids and Gaius had taught him. Magic was a natural force—an energy that was neither good nor bad—and could be used as a means for many ends, good or evil. At the same time, what the woman was saying made sense, it explained the way his magic was turning on him—hurting and killing people instead of healing. It explained why his magic seemed so much stronger when he was feeling angry. The idea that it would change him, twist him, and force him to hurt the ones he loved shook him to his core.

"What can I do? Can I stop this from happening?" Merlin's voice was panicked.

"Stopping it is the only way you can fulfill your destiny, Emrys."

"How do I stop it?"

The old woman lowered her hands and closed her eyes. "The only way to protect Arthur is to sacrifice your magic."

Merlin froze. _Sacrifice_ his magic? How could he sacrifice something that was a part of him? Did this old woman mean for him to _die?_ Was his demise the only thing that could prevent this?

He was almost afraid to ask. "H-how?"

The woman pushed back and got to her feet, collecting her cane. She hobbled across the tent to a large cedar chest and opened it with surprising ease considering the frailty of her appearance. Rummaging for a moment, tossing other objects aside, she pulled back with something small clutched within her bony fingers. Merlin got up from his seat and approached as she showed him what looked to be nothing more than a tiny red stone.

"It is the Nefnecræft. The Stone of Binding. It was used once to control sorcerers. Worn about the neck, magical power is lessened. Heated by flame and placed against a sorcerer's skin, magic is deflected entirely. The user can never again wield it."

Merlin eyed the stone with unease. He didn't just _use_ magic. He didn't _learn_ it. He simply... had it. It was with him always. Would the stone even function as it was supposed to?

"And... this will work? This will change what you saw?"

"It is why you found me here tonight, to prevent evil and assure the glorious future of Albion."

Merlin felt a part of him tugging, urging him to leave now, that something wasn't right here. But a larger part was overwhelmed with fear, was too convinced that yes, something bad was happening and he had to act _now_ to stop it. Merlin had a tendency to be impulsive when it came to protecting Arthur and Camelot; quick to find the fastest solution and quick to put his own life in danger if that was the price. Usually it worked out, and this felt like just another challenge that needed facing. He couldn't run from this. His magic had once been everything to him, but in recent weeks it had betrayed him worse than ever. He couldn't deny that it would hurt, as much as losing a necessary appendage might, but where his destiny was concerned, there was no questioning the personal consequences. As always, he did what had to be done for Arthur.

"All right," he said, surprised by how steady his voice was. "I'll do it. Please, help me."

"It has been my only purpose, Emrys, all these long years of waiting for tonight. I shall do so gladly."

The stone had been heated in the flame, glowing orange as it was plucked from the pit with metal tongs. The old woman muttered a warning of imminent pain. Merlin had shut his eyes and nodded. The stone had dropped onto his bare chest, and the scream that followed was echoed by the scream of the mocking voice as it was expelled from his mind. Spreading out from the stone grew a pattern of twisting symbols, etching themselves into his skin, wafting up a smell of charred flesh not unlike what Merlin had smelled when Gwaine was injured.

Stumbling back to the campsite, Merlin felt a relief wash over him. He couldn't hear the voice, he couldn't feel his magic. It had worked, after all. The pain of the burn was harsh, but Merlin ignored it, finally content with the knowledge that everything would now be okay.

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><p><em>"Morgana."<em>

The woman looked up, eyes wild with panic. She twisted around to hide the table before her from something she couldn't see.

"You're back. You've been successful then?"

She walked forward, brushing hair from her eyes, looking shifty and unsettled.

_"Emrys has begun his descent. I have bound his magic."_

Morgana smiled, and her smile turned into manic laughter. "The stone? How? Did you attack Arthur? How was it that you were able to get Merlin alone?"

_"He was deceived by a serpent's cunning. And no wonder, for Satan himself masquerades as an angel of light."_

"How long now?"

_"Emrys is a being of magic. Bound by the Nefnecræft, he will soon wither and die."_

"I will step in before he's allowed to perish. You've done well, demon."

_"I am bound also, Morgana. But I will not die. You will die. You will die and then you will be mine."_

Morgana's eyes flashed. Her smile faltered.

_"Do not think you can outwit me, betray me, rebuke or abandon your pledge."_

Morgana scowled, deserting her efforts to hide the object she had been working on. "Of course. Let neither of us underestimate the other."

She felt a pain in her head then, the deafening roar of a lion followed by the buzzing and stinging of an angry swarm. Morgana fell to the floor, thrashing at the insects she felt enveloping her, choking on them, gasping, millions of legs crawling, wings pumping. As the flies dissipated, the laughter replaced their droning. Morgana covered her ears to no avail.

_"Let us not, Morgana Pendragon."_


	12. Chapter 12

**Aaaaand, 3 updates in 3 days! Unfortunately now I must face another week of grueling school projects. And yes, I did throw a Simpsons reference in there. Cookies to anyone who catches it.  
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><p>"Merlin, wake up mate. You're sleeping through what I'm guessing, above these trees, is a gorgeous sunny morning."<p>

Gwaine, unable to get a response out of the servant, shrugged and got to his feet. Arthur finished tying one of the bags to a horse, smiling at Gwaine's failed attempt.

"You'll never wake Merlin that way," he sighed, wandering over. "You've got to poke him with a stick."

The prince grabbed a branch from the ground and offered up a demonstration.

"Oww—wah? _Arthur_—" Merlin groaned and buried his face in his sleeve. His body felt weak and heavy. "Whry arehyouh pokin' mrrr..."

"See?" Arthur smiled his most self-satisfied smile and tossed the stick to Gwaine. The knight nodded, conceding defeat, and continued packing up camp. On the ground, Merlin was fighting to keep his eyes open. Actually pulling himself into a sitting position seemed at this point completely out of the question.

"Come on, _Mer_lin, we've wasted enough time. We're leaving. Get up."

Merlin forced himself to look up at the prince, his head fuzzy. With an incredible effort, he pushed one elbow beneath him. He felt as though his head were heavy enough to snap free of his neck at any moment.

"Just... go on without me..." Merlin mumbled, eyelids drooping. "I just need to sleep for... a few more... days."

Another one of Arthur's impressive eye-rolls preceded him lifting his manservant up by the collar. He got Merlin to his feet only to watch the young man stumble into one of the horses. He looked half-dead from fatigue.

"Good lord, Merlin, what were you doing all night?"

Merlin brought his hand to his chest, feeling the still-painful sting of the fresh burns. "Trying to sleep through your snoring," he snapped.

"I don't snore, Merlin. Gwaine snores."

"True enough," Gwaine interjected, tying off the last of the supplies. "Princess here just breaks wind a lot."

Arthur cleared his throat and marched off to his horse as Gwaine grinned. Merlin couldn't help but laugh, though the laugh evolved into a rather enormous yawn. He supposed he had been up pretty late, and his nerves and the fiery branding couldn't have helped his growing exhaustion. Still, Merlin felt unnaturally drained. It took a few tries to successfully mount his horse, and once the trio got underway every ounce of his mind-power was required to avoid falling asleep in the saddle.

Despite the weight of tiredness dragging his chin closer and closer to his chest, Merlin's heart felt significantly lighter by comparison. The knowledge that his magic was no longer a danger to anyone was a blessing; but more than that, Merlin was, for the first time ever, not hiding anything from Arthur. He was just good ol' dependable Merlin, the prince's personal servant and friend. He might have worried about Arthur's chances now without his magic there to protect him, but the old woman's predictions had been clear enough. Sacrificing his magic would assure Albion's future. Arthur would still become the great king of prophecy, and Merlin would still remain at his side.

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><p>The journey back to Camelot felt much shorter than the ride to Ealdor, but that may have been due to Merlin sleeping through the majority of it. When the castle at last came into view, Merlin had to be shaken awake. When he saw those familiar walls and towers again, the young warlock felt a mix of grief and longing. He'd missed this place, but he was also reminded of his reason for leaving in the first place.<p>

"First thing's first," Arthur proclaimed as they headed up the streets. "A bath. A nice, long, hot bath. Think you can handle that, Merlin?"

Merlin grinned sleepily. "Sure. Sounds good. You could use one too, Arthur."

"Hilarious, Merlin. There's to be a feast tonight as well. Notify the kitchen staff. All of my favourite dishes are to be served. And porridge is henceforth banned from the palace."

"Catching up on lost weight, sire?"

"You know, Merlin, if you're still feeling sleepy, I can recommend several dark, quiet dungeon cells..."

News of their arrival had already spread back to the palace, and Guinevere, Sir Leon, Sir Percival, Sir Elyan, and Lord Agravaine were waiting on the palace steps. Merlin dismounted, stumbled dizzily, and smiled as Gwen ran forward to embrace him. Gwaine meandered over to the other knights, showing off his newly-acquired burn scars. Arthur exchanged a knowing smile with Gwen, but in his uncle's company he exchanged a simple greeting and excused himself to his chambers.

"I knew you'd come back," Gwen grinned.

Merlin smiled also. "Wish you'd told me that, could have saved me some embarrassment."

"We're all happy you changed your mind. And by the looks of the three of you, you've got some stories to tell."

Merlin nodded, though in his tired state he would have to try very hard to separate the magical stories from the unmagical ones. Perhaps he'd just leave it to Gwaine to regale them all.

"Come on then," Gwen squeezed his shoulder and led him forward. "Let's feed you before Arthur remembers you're his servant."

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><p>Merlin's spirits continued to rise during the feast that evening, even though, as usual, he was merely one of the servers. Gwaine and Arthur kept the court entertained with stories of their little adventure, most of which involved Merlin to some extent, and so he hardly felt excluded from the jubilations. Long before anyone was ready to retire for the night, Arthur noted that Merlin's eyes were again starting to droop and told him to take the rest of the night off. The servant wished that, for once, the prince hadn't been so perceptive, because he had nowhere to go but back to Gaius's chambers and his old room.<p>

The walk there was a long one. His head was still sore from the beating he'd endured in Ealdor days before, and his chest was itchy and raw from the burns spiraling all over his chest. He felt weak and tired, but still contented with his decision.

The room was musty from disuse when Merlin entered. A thin layer of dust had built up over Gaius's tables, papers, and jars of medicines. He passed it all by with as few lingering glances as possible, heading straight for his own bedroom, inside which he could pretend he was anywhere else in the castle but there, and that Gaius wouldn't be shouting at him to wake up and get some breakfast because he was going to be late again—

He crumpled onto the bed, trying very hard not to let his good mood falter. He would go to work for Arthur again tomorrow, as the new and honest Merlin, and then he would clean up these chambers. He'd make them suitable again, as Gaius would have kept them.

Merlin slipped down onto the bed, wondering if life would ever feel normal again, and succumbed to sleep within seconds.

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><p>No unsurprisingly, Merlin slept late the next day. Gwen had to show up and drag him out of bed, and it felt almost reminiscent of old times. Arthur yelled at him, Merlin insulted him back, Arthur threw a goblet, and Merlin barely dodged it in time. Gwaine tried to nick some of the prince's lunch that afternoon, and Merlin was forced to clean all of the clothes Arthur had dirtied in the pig sty after the prince caught him dozing in a window.<p>

When he returned to his chambers to face the task of cleaning up, Merlin was sporting a sad smile, but a smile all the same. This was strengthened when, after about an hour of work, Gwen, Elyan, and Gwaine showed up to lend a hand (though only the former two spent time doing any real cleaning—Gwaine mostly laughed at and played with the majority of the objects he found, or read aloud from old books in an exaggerated stuffy accent).

The cleaning wound down toward sunset, and the four sat around on tables, talking and laughing, only occasionally picking up some item to ask Merlin where he wanted it.

"There," Gwen stepped back from the largest of the specimen shelves. "Those are all sorted." She moved to collapse on a chair. "Not all of them were labeled, so I placed them by colour."

"Thanks, Gwen," Merlin grinned, stretching. "I'll have to ask Geoffrey what half of them are. I'm useless with most of Gaius's herbs."

Silence fell as Gwaine used a magnifying glass to examine the hair on the back of his hand.

Merlin stared around at the de-cluttered and organized space. It was the cleanest he'd ever seen it. "I never noticed how big it was in here. D'you think it's too big? I don't need all of this space. Maybe I should let the new physician take it?"

"It's yours, Merlin," Elyan said. "By right it's yours. You were Gaius's ward, it wouldn't be proper for anyone else to live here."

Gwen nodded. "Elyan's right. You'll get used to it, Merlin. You'll make it your own, but you'll always have the memories."

"Just a bit lonely." Merlin forced a smile, not wanting to make it seem he was feeling sorry for himself. "Gaius is gone, and I can't ever go back to Ealdor."

"It's settled then," Gwaine tossed the magnifying glass aside and miraculously it didn't smash. "_I'll_ move in with you, Merlin." He hopped off of a desk and strode forward, ruffling the young man's hair.

"Aahhaah, uhh—" Merlin shied away. "You don't have to do that—"

"Naw, it's no trouble, mate. What're friends for? Just have to grab my stuff."

"What sort of stuff?" Merlin could only imagine.

"Swords mostly. And my chair. Think it'd fit in this corner?"

Merlin had seen the enormous, colourfully-patched, curiously-stained chair in question. It was said that when bad furniture died, it came back as a part of Gwaine's chair. "Come to think of it, it's not really that big a space. I'll probably, y'know, just get used to it. Gwen, yeah—Gwen says I'll get used to it."

"You sure, Merlin? I make a breakfast stew to die for."

"Yeah! Yes. I'll definitely get used to it. No one has to die."

Gwaine grinned, winked, and headed for the door. "My work here is done then. I'll be in the tavern if anyone needs me."

"Getting ingredients for his stew, no doubt," Elyan smiled, easing to his feet. "I think I'll be taking my leave as well."

Gwen patted her legs. "I'll walk with you. Anything else you need, Merlin?"

"Oh, no, no. Thanks for the help, really. Couldn't have done it without you guys. Well, I mean, maybe without Gwaine."

Merlin stood, and a rush of pain shot to his head. The room spun dangerously. All at once it felt like someone was beating on his skull with a morning star. His hands flew up as he stumbled sideways into a table. The world continued to sway, or was it him who was swaying?

"Merlin!"

He felt two sets of hands grab and steady him, pulling him back to his chair. The throbbing in his head abated enough that he managed to open his eyes. Gwen's concerned face filled his vision.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah... no—I think so. Just a bit dizzy. S'nothing."

"Have you eaten today?"

Merlin removed one hand from his head. "Yup."

"Did you?" Gwen frowned.

"I did this time! Arthur let me have lunch! It was really unusual!"

She didn't look entirely convinced. "Well have something else. You've been working hard."

"All right, I will." He broke into a cheeky smile. "I'm fine, Gwen. I got up too fast. Go! I'm not dying."

Elyan had to tug his sister away, but she finally relented. Merlin laughed as they left, but once the door was closed, he bent forward and continued to rub his aching head. Too much too soon, he decided. It had been a long day. He'd just turn in early and feel all the better for it tomorrow. Grabbing some bread, he ate and surveyed the room one last time. They were right, he would get used to it. He would feel wrong to leave this place. It'd just take some time.

Once again, Merlin had no problem falling into a deep sleep.

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><p>"<em>NOOOOOOO!"<em>

_Merlin crawled across the floor, puffy green arms clawing along after him. They had his legs, they were pulling him toward the rift! Screams echoed all around him. Deafening screams. His head was spitting open. His chest was on fire! He looked back over his shoulder to see the ghastly hollow faces of his friends, dead and rotting. Gaius, Lancelot, Will, Freya, Balinor—eyes missing, lips stretched back over yellowed teeth. They called his name in strangled voices._

"_TIE HIM! BURN HIM!"_

_Flames rose up around him. Arthur and Uther and even his mother were amongst those in the crowd, chanting for his destruction. He felt the fire lick at his toes, and then crawl up his legs. No! No—his skin was burning! Peeling away!_

_He screamed in agony as the fire consumed him. His eyes burst and streamed down his face. Moments before he died, he felt the urge to be sick—_

"Haahhh!" Merlin shot out of bed and scrambled to the far wall, fumbling with a chamber pot before vomiting painfully into it. His head was splitting. He felt like he was still on fire, and imagined he could still hear the angry crowd and the crackle and searing of his own flesh.

He threw up again, spat, and then fell back. A dream. Just a really terrible dream. He sat on the cool floor, the pain and nausea lessening. Slowly he drifted back into sleep, feeling the symbols on his chest pulsate and tingle.


	13. Chapter 13

**Poor little Merlin. But it's got to get worse before it can get better! (Note: "Better" may still be a long ways off... *cough*)  
><strong>

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><p>Merlin woke early the following day, his head pounding and his whole body aching from a night spent sleeping on the stony floor. All the same, he was grateful for the chance to actually show up to Arthur's chambers on time, albeit a little more disoriented than usual. He opened the curtains, which was his customary means of waking the prince, only to find that he was equally alarmed by the light. Bolts of pain fired through his head and settled in his temples.<p>

"Merlin—" Arthur grumbled, shielding his eyes with a pillow. "What are you _doing?_"

The servant blinked teary eyes against the pain. "My job, sire.

"So early?"

"It's not early!"

Arthur rolled over. "It's extremely early for you."

Merlin set about clearing away Arthur's clothing from the previous day and collected a fresh outfit. He paused next to the prince's writing desk. "So if showing up on time is extremely early, then if I show up late, that really ought to be considered on time, shouldn't it?"

"_Mer_lin..." Arthur pushed himself up on one elbow. "No time is a good time to listen to your babbling."

"Then you should get out of bed and get dressed so I can get to my other chores, _your highness_."

Merlin knew what was coming next, but his reflexes failed him. The pillow smacked him in the side of the head and he faltered. It was only a pillow—small mercy—but the explosion of searing discomfort was no less disarming. Stars flickered across his vision.

"Unfortunately for the both of us, I have other need of you today."

Merlin held his head. Arthur hadn't noticed him stumble. Swallowing back nausea, he cleared his throat. "Dare I ask?"

The prince had disappeared behind his dressing screen. "I've been away from Camelot for too long. I need to resume training."

Merlin groaned. Of course. "Which means I need to resume playing the part of the poor battered shield."

"It's one of the few things you can do half-decently, Merlin." Arthur finished changing and strode out as Merlin stepped forward to tie laces, strap on boots, and do up the prince's belt (which, thanks to a vacation in Ealdor, managed to fasten using the original holes). By the time Merlin served Arthur his breakfast, he'd barely been working an hour and was already feeling he needed a break.

"I'll need my armour polished, swords sharpened, and the field equipment assembled by noon," Arthur instructed. "Did you hear that? No later than—Merlin are you _listening?_"

Merlin was trying not to vomit from the smell of Arthur's food. He rubbed his head and forced a half-smile, nodding. "Yup. Polish the field—assemble swords. Armour... sharpened... I've got it. Honestly, Arthur, I'm not a complete idiot."

He grabbed up the prince's tray before Arthur had fully finished and headed for the door. The prince watched him leave with one eyebrow raised.

Merlin barely made it to the end of the hall before handing the tray off to a passing servant, leaving the poor girl seriously confused. He almost fell down the stairwell in order to escape the palace, desperate for some fresh air. Once outside, he lurched forward, headache blinding him and nausea surfacing in waves. He choked a few times, but had nothing in his belly to bring up. Falling back against a cool stone wall, he realized just how uncomfortable and warm he was feeling.

_Must have caught something_, he thought. But there wasn't much he could do about it. Arthur needed him, and Gaius was no longer there to give him a quick potion for pain relief. He supposed there was that _new_ physician, but Merlin had no interest in meeting Gaius's replacement.

Pushing himself onward, Merlin gathered some water from the well and then set to work preparing everything the prince had requested. His head continued to throb, occasionally feeling as though someone were twisting knives into both of his eye sockets. The queasiness remained as well, each movement causing his stomach to shift unpleasantly. His forehead was beading up with sweat.

Arthur and his knights and knights-in-training made their appearance just as Merlin was setting up the last of the equipment. He had allowed himself a brief respite, collapsing next to a tent to take some more water, but his break was very short-lived.

"Stop being lazy, Merlin. Get up and fetch the shield."

Merlin looked pained then, and he thought he saw a moment of hesitation on Arthur's part. But the manservant pushed himself back to his feet and did his best to jog off and find the shield his prince so relished beating mercilessly with a heavy blade. Arthur watched him, noting that Merlin seemed a bit sluggish and distracted today. Perhaps he was just as out of practice as Arthur. A day of training would do them both good, Arthur decided.

When Merlin returned, he had the very real urge to tell Arthur he wasn't up for this. The knights had started to train with one another, the harsh clang of swords driving daggers further into his skull. He wanted nothing more than to curl up in his bed and sleep this sickness away.

Instead, he bit his lip and lifted the shield in Arthur's direction.

The first hit drove him backward, but it was the third that forced Merlin off of his feet. He landed with a grunt on his bony behind and felt the wind knocked out of him.

"That was completely pathetic," Arthur sighed.

Merlin pushed himself up, saw stars, and fell back again. A moment later, the shield was lifted forward and him along with it.

"Your stance is all wrong," the prince said, kicking at Merlin's heels. "Like this, remember? Even _you_ can avoid falling if you stand properly, idiot."

"I'm not the one ganging up on a shield!" Merlin grumbled back, adding "Twat!" a few moments too late to sound anything but pitiable.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Stand still."

The sword came at him again, and Merlin managed to keep himself upright. Each CLANG reverberated through his head—BANG-BANG-CLANG-BANG—he swore he could feel his brain vibrating, eyes shaking loose, cranium cracking down the middle...

CLANG. CLANG. BANG-CLANG-CLANG!

His arms were shaking suddenly. He felt his muscles turn to jelly. Against his will, his fingers lost their grip. The shield slipped to the grass and Merlin shrunk back just in time for a stunned Arthur to bring his sword down against his servant's waist. He might have severed the young man in two had he not seen the whole grisly scene play out in slow-motion, and pulled back just enough, and just in time.

"My _GOD_, Merlin!"

He wanted to call him every assortment of derogatory names, but he was too distracted by the blood welling up under the servant's shirt. He started to grab for Merlin's belt to get a better look at the severity of the wound.

"No!" Merlin hissed, drawing his legs up. The adrenaline had come upon him so suddenly that he forgot for the moment just how sick he was feeling. He couldn't let Arthur see the symbols on his torso—

"I have to see the wound, Merlin, stop squirming! I could have killed you, you stupid—"

"_Could_ have—" Merlin winced, "but didn't! It's fine! My fault!"

"You're _bleeding_—"

Merlin had to convince him that he was all right. He sat up quickly, ignoring the dizziness. "S'not the first time, and probably won't be the last," he forced a goofy smile. Arthur stared at him with his mouth agape.

"Come on then, back to it!" Merlin grabbed for the shield, not having realized that all of the knights had ceased their training and were now encircling the scene. Merlin's shirt was badly stained with blood. Arthur put his hand on the shield and shook his head.

"Merlin, don't be stupid. Go to the physician and get that looked at."

"S'just a flesh wound—"

"_Now!_"

Merlin sighed, his breath shaky. He nodded. "Yes, sire." Arthur and his knights watched the servant stagger off. They might have been baffled by the whole display if it weren't so very utterly... _Merlin_. The prince shook his head in dismay and chose a new partner to spar with.

* * *

><p>Merlin never went to the physician. He knew enough from his years with Gaius to treat the wound himself. Back in his chambers, he carefully peeled away the shirt to reveal a deep but easily treatable injury. It was still seeping slightly, but Merlin cleaned it, applied honey and bandages, and counted himself lucky. So this was life without magic... Merlin smiled, noting the numerous old scars that riddled his body <em>because<em> of magic. As his eyes roved over a pale torso that had definitely seen better days, he noted something off. He brought a hand to one of the larger symbol burns, and pulled his fingers away dipped in blood.

The burns themselves seemed to have healed, but now that he really looked, they were bleeding in several places. Not seeing any obvious signs of infection, he simply set about bandaging the rest of his torso as well.

Merlin managed to finish the rest of his chores that day without further injury. Assured that he hadn't mortally wounded his servant, Arthur was content to start mocking him endlessly for it. Called everything from "soft" to "girly" to the "clumsiest git in Camelot", Merlin returned to his chambers feeling notably worse than when he had left them. His headache was going strong, his nausea encouraging him to skip another meal, and what was evidently a growing fever topped off the whole unpleasant package. He should have expected the nightmares that once again filled his dreams.

The rest of the week played out in much the same fashion. Merlin did what he could to concoct potions to quell the pain and sickness, and for the most part Arthur remained oblivious. A few dizzy spells in the company of Gwen or the knights resulted in Merlin choking down what food that he could, but the nausea was an ever-present companion.

When Arthur announced that he wanted to go hunting, Merlin attempted every excuse he could think of. He even told Arthur he wasn't feeling well, but after having just plowed through a dozen other excuses, the prince wasn't buying it. He spent the first day running around the woods trying to flush out animals, growing sicker and weaker by the hour. He was so drained; so unbelievably sapped of strength. By evening, after fixing a meal for those in Arthur's company, Merlin wanted nothing more than to drop like a dead thing into the dirt.

"You're forgetting something, Merlin."

The servant turned his head to look at Sir Leon with such an expression of pure, helpless agony that the knight was momentarily lost for words.

"Your dinner, Merlin," Gwaine interjected. "You've got to be starving."

"Oh," Merlin nodded, tired eyes showing no sign of fight. "Okay. Yeah."

He couldn't muster the strength to stand again, and so simply extended an arm. Gwaine wasn't about to chide him for it. The boy looked ready to drop. He got up and handed a bowl to Merlin. Everyone ate in silence, but eyes occasionally darted to the servant, his hands shaking each time he brought the spoon to his mouth. About halfway through his meal Merlin seemed to snap back to reality. He paled and excused himself, rushing off into the woods.

Arthur and his knights continued eating without a word, though the silence was uneasy.

"All right, I'll say it," Gwaine piped up. "Something's wrong with Merlin."

"He's still grieving," Elyan offered.

Gwaine shook his head. "Think it's more than that, mate. He was doing better. Now look at him."

"He's very pale," Percival said after a moment.

"Clearly hasn't been sleeping much," Leon added.

Gwaine snorted. "And he's too damn skinny. Even for Merlin." The rugged knight turned to Arthur, who hadn't said anything yet. "What do you think, princess?"

Arthur glared. "He said he wasn't feeling well. You're all overreacting. Merlin's fine now, leave him be."

"Wishful thinking, Arthur?" Gwaine pushed.

"He's my personal servant. I'd know if there were something badly wrong with him."

A ways away, next to a tree, Merlin was retching up his dinner. Tears streamed down his cheeks. His head was still splitting, he hadn't kept down anything more than broth and crusty bread all week, his dreams were plagued with nightmares. He felt his body was tearing itself apart. It was a sensation of desperate pain that nothing could fix, and it was driving him crazy.

He rocked back into a crouch, hugging his torso. The symbols burned and bled beneath the bandages. He could feel the sharp points of his own shoulder-blades and ribs. He knew this sickness was reaching a dangerous pinnacle, but he stubbornly wanted the help of only one person, and he knew that help would never come again.

_Gaius... what do I do?_

Knowing an answer was impossible, he staggered to his feet.

* * *

><p>Arthur was holding court a few days later, something he was getting quite good at with Uther unable to perform his regular duties as king. Merlin stood off to one side in his regular place, amidst the knights and other nobles, looking pale and sickly and feeling even worse.<p>

He didn't hear much of what was being said, his head clouded up with pain and fever. The world was beginning to spin quite dangerously.

Prince Arthur was hearing both sides of a dispute between two fruit vendors, one of whom accused the other of planting worms in his stand in an attempt to foul the competition. Arthur was tired of having to solve petty confrontations. Was this really something the regent needed to hear?

"If you can provide no proof, sir, then how am I to believe your produce was not infested naturally?"

As the old man started to blather on about fruit conspiracies, Arthur's mind drifted, as did his gaze. Some movement in the hall caught his eyes. Merlin appeared to be trembling. He furrowed his brows. It was hardly cool in the crowded hall. If anything, it was overly warm and stuffy.

Merlin looked so starkly white compared to those around him, except for his cheeks. They were brightly flushed. His glassy eyes were sunken into bruised sockets. He could see it now, quite suddenly, with so many bodies surrounding him for comparison. So thin. So painfully thin.

Arthur raised a hand to silence the vendor just as Merlin dropped.


	14. Chapter 14

**Stupid Morgana and her convoluted plans for conquest! Look what you've done now...**  
><strong>Lots of amazing comments after that last chapter, you guys are awesome! Your words of encouragement have fueled this next chapter. Managed to finish quicker than I had expected!<strong>

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><p>A few gasps sounded across the hall and the prince shot forward.<p>

"Get back! Give him room!"

Leon and Percival stepped away from the fallen figure, but Gwaine stayed stubbornly at the boy's side. Merlin was shaking—convulsing. His legs kicking and his jaw and fists clenched tightly.

Arthur knelt down, at a complete loss for how to help. His arms moved forward to do something—anything—but stayed hovering just over his servant, who was flailing too violently to risk scooping up. Instead, Arthur opted for protecting the young man's head from crashing into the floor, propping him up and holding his shoulders. Instantly, he felt the sick heat coming off of Merlin's body.

"He needs to see the physician," Lord Agravaine spoke, having silently joined Arthur at his side. "I could take him, sire."

"No," the prince answered straight away. He would handle Merlin himself, that was certain enough. As usual, he felt the guilt building. This was partially his fault. "Continue the hearing, uncle."

"This is hardly a matter worthy of your time, Arthur—"

The dangerous look Agravaine received in reply was enough to close his mouth against any further remark. It was evident that Arthur placed his servant on a higher step than he did squabbling fruit vendors. He bowed his head and retreated back to Arthur's spot at the head of the hall.

"It's passing, I think," Elyan pointed. Arthur dropped his gaze back to Merlin, who was still twitching but with far less aggression. The knights began to move in again as the prince hoisted his servant into his arms. Leon, Percival, Elyan, and Gwaine all jogged after Arthur, who stopped to face them at the door.

"Stay. I'll see that he's taken care of."

All but Gwaine got the message. He frowned and continued.

"Sir Gwaine," Arthur snapped. "_Stay here_. I won't have Merlin crowded. I will send for you later."

The prince swept from the hall and headed along the corridor. In truth, he was too ashamed to face his knights at that moment; his knights, who had seen that something was wrong with Merlin days ago. Arthur had ignored the obvious signs. He'd convinced himself that Merlin was fine and everything had finally returned to normal again, because he so _badly_ wanted things to be normal again. But there they were, Merlin once more in need. Had he not suffered enough?

The new physician had set up his practice in the lower levels of the castle. It wasn't ideal, but there weren't a lot of large rooms left, and the man seemed to appreciate the solitude. It was hardly a grueling march, however. Merlin felt like a child in his arms. A child or a ragdoll. The only discomfort Arthur felt was from the bones digging into his arms and the warmth emanating from his servant's body.

"Why, Merlin?" Arthur growled, "Why do you _never_ tell me? Why do you never say _anything?_ You go on suffering, and I, the big cruel prince of Camelot, come off as an insensitive prat."

Merlin groaned but showed no other signs of regaining consciousness. Figured. Arthur sighed and reached the final landing, heading down the cool passageway that led to the new physician's chambers. The door was slightly ajar when Arthur reached it, and he shouldered his way into a room that was surprisingly well-lit for being located in such a neglected part of the palace.

A man looked up from his tidy desk, and stood to get a better look at his visitors. "My liege?"

"My servant is ill," Arthur huffed, clearly at a loss but trying to maintain some sense of control. The new physician extended an arm to the prince.

"Put him here, sire." He moved to one of the beds, plain brown robes billowing around him. This was the first time Arthur had really gotten a good look at the physician. He'd met him only briefly the day he'd come to Camelot, and had been more than a little preoccupied with cleaning up the last of the mess the Dorocha had left. What was his name? Hywell? Hamish? Seeing him now, the man struck Arthur as being quite plain over all. He had an average build, a bit on the short side, with overgrown brown hair streaked here and there with grey, and a tired, round face that sported a day or two's worth of stubble. He had kind eyes though, Arthur noted, and seemed gentle enough that he felt safe stepping back to allow the man to properly examine Merlin.

"He's burning up," Arthur offered, though he felt a bit stupid for stating the obvious.

"He has a very high fever," the physician agreed. "For how long, do you know?"

Arthur cleared his throat. "A few days, I think. Possibly more."

"He should have been brought to me straight away," the physician said, though his tone was not unkind.

Arthur felt a wrenching at his heart. "He collapsed just now. He was... experiencing some sort of fit."

"Convulsions, my liege? That's not good at all."

The prince didn't need to be told that, though he still felt more guilty than affronted. He watched the man sweep off to one of his medicine shelves to fetch a potion. He also grabbed a bucket of water on his way back, into which he dipped and soaked some linens. He applied one to the young man's pale forehead.

"The worry is damage to the brain, sire, when a fever progresses far enough to cause a fit like the one you witnessed." He lifted Merlin's shoulders and brought the phial to his parched lips. "Drink this down, son. There's a good lad."

Arthur was fighting the urge to pace. "Will he be all right?" He felt like mentioning that Merlin's brain really couldn't stand further damaging, but managed to hold his tongue.

"We shall see in a moment, sire." The man placed Merlin back down again, and began to check under his jaw, and then examined his eyes and mouth. Arthur stood by, feeling awkward and restless. He felt a need to break the silence.

"I apologize, but I fear I've forgotten your name."

"Hedwynn, sire. You say he's been feverish for a few days? Have you noticed any other symptoms? Vomiting perhaps?"

"Vomiting?"

"His throat is red and raw, and he's dangerously underweight. I would say he's been without proper nourishment for a long time, but I've never met the boy to know what he ought to look like. He's also anemic—ah, lacking for blood, sire."

Arthur frowned. "You've never met him?"

"I'm afraid not, sire. I'm quite good with faces, and names."

Arthur would let that one slide for now. "He was injured early last week. He took a blade to his side. I instructed him to come here to have it treated."

"It would seem he disobeyed your instructions," Hedwynn smiled lightly. "And from the look on your face I would guess that's nothing out of the ordinary."

"That's _Mer_lin," Arthur grumbled.

"It could be that the wound is infected then," Hedwynn unfastened Merlin's belt. "Let's have a look."

Merlin kicked suddenly, and then flailed backward, almost throwing himself from the bed. Arthur reacted first, grabbing the servant's thin shoulders and forcing him still.

"What are you doing!" Merlin demanded, still trying to kick himself free.

Arthur was surprised that someone so frail could put up this strong a fight. "Calm down, Merlin! You're sick! You fainted and Hedwynn is trying to treat you—"

"I don't need to be treated! Who's Hedwynn?"

The physician waved. "A pleasure to meet you, Merlin. Lay down, please, I need to examine this sword wound of yours."

Merlin shook his head. His eyes looked bright and crazed from the fever. "It's fine! I've been treating it, it's healed fine!"

"_Merlin!_ Stop—_squirming!_"

"Now, now," Hedwynn backed off. "That's fine. Let him go, sire. Let's talk instead, Merlin. How long have you been feeling poorly?"

The servant stopped fighting, but Arthur could feel every muscle in Merlin's scrawny body tensing up. He slowly moved off, but Merlin remained rigidly upright and plainly suspicious.

"S-since we returned, I guess. Or maybe a couple days before."

Arthur boggled at that. Hedwynn just nodded. "Not a result of your wound then. Perhaps it's the ague? Does your head hurt?"

"Yes!" Merlin blurted, wincing from the pain even as he said it. "Bad."

"Very good," Hedwynn nodded, and then caught himself with a chuckle, "Well I mean, not good at all, of course. But at least I know how to treat you. Give me just a moment, my boy."

Merlin frowned, not at all liking the endearing names the physician was using. He wasn't _his_ boy. He caught Arthur's eye and found that he couldn't hold the gaze for long. The prince looked stricken, somehow. Merlin swallowed, his head swimming, his body on fire, and unbelievably dizzy otherwise.

"If I didn't know any better I'd say you were concerned, Arthur," Merlin grinned.

Arthur just blinked. "Merlin, you were flailing on the floor in front of everyone."

"I was?" He continued grinning despite a twinge of embarrassment.

"Stop smiling, you idiot! You just dropped like a stone, and when I saw how badly you looked, I—Damn it, Merlin, I thought you were—" Arthur shook his head, unable to say it.

The smile fell. _I'm not dying_, Merlin thought. He wasn't, was he?

"Here we are," Hedwynn pushed his way forward with several bottles in hand. He sat them down on the bed next to Merlin, rhyming off their uses as he did so. "This one should help to relieve the fever, and this is something I concocted myself—a potent mixture to bring a quick halt to the ague—it should relieve the headache and the nausea as well. And this is to stimulate the appetite. You won't get better if you're not eating, lad."

Merlin rubbed at his side absent-mindedly, feeling the now ever-present sting of the burns. He nodded into his lap, knowing privately that were Gaius there, the remedies would work twice as quickly.

Seeing that Merlin had no intensions of doing so, Arthur thanked the physician. He'd have preferred to have left his servant under the watchful eye of Hedwynn at least overnight, but Merlin insisted on sleeping in his own bed.

"You'll stay there until you're feeling better," Arthur ordered, slowing his pace to match Merlin's, which was still shambling and shaky.

"How will you cope?" Merlin smiled through winces of pain. "Frankly I'm—more worried—about you."

"You will stay in bed, take your potions as instructed, and I'll have food brought to your chambers from the palace kitchens."

"Sounds brilliant! Should get the ague more often."

Arthur stopped and turned. "And if you want to keep your job as my servant, _Mer_lin, you're going to make a new habit of _telling me_ when you're sick. This should never have gone so far. Do you understand me?"

Merlin had a quip ready at the end of his tongue, but he stopped. Arthur was right. There was no reason for him to be keeping secrets anymore. He let his gaze drop to his feet. "Yes, sire."

As they passed some guards in the hall, Merlin expected Arthur to instruct one of them to see his servant the rest of the way. The prince didn't look like he really wanted to spend a moment longer with him. But Arthur remained at his side for the rest of the exhausting walk back, watched Merlin take his potions and eat some dinner, and emphasized once more what a dangerous decision it would be to deviate from his instructions. Merlin was smiling then, in spite of the situation, and went to bed feeling properly cared for by his royal pratness.

* * *

><p>Agravaine always felt a thrill of empowerment on the ride from the city of Camelot into the woods that surrounded it, but the excitement of having a piece of good news for the lady Morgana was always stifled when he reached the door to her ramshackle hideaway. Her expectations were high, and he always fell just short of truly impressing her.<p>

But this was her plan, and he was there to inform her of its continued success. Surely she would be pleased to hear anything pertaining to Emrys's downfall.

When he entered, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. As they did, a huddled mass formed ahead of him, delicate pale fingers danced through the air over a collection of books and artifacts. Tattered and ragged as she may have become, she was still dark and beautiful.

"Morgana, my lady, I bring news."

She whipped around so fiercely that Agravaine took a step back toward the door. Her eyes were wild and deadly.

"What news? What is it? Important enough to have interrupted my work, clearly—_out with it then!_"

The woman's manic disposition caught him off guard. For a moment, he forgot why he'd come.

"Ah—Emrys. I have news of Emrys."

"So go on! Stop hesitating! What are you afraid of, Agravaine?"

In truth, he _was_ afraid, but he couldn't exactly finger the reason for it. Morgana was off-putting, to be sure, but there was something else. Something dark and heavy in the room itself. A feeling of foreboding.

"Merlin is declining quickly, my lady. In only a week's time his deterioration has become evident to all. He collapsed in convulsions during court yesterday. The new physician has diagnosed him with the ague and fever; given him potions. I can't imagine he'll last much longer."

Morgana lowered her crazed stare. "Merlin—Emrys is stronger than he looks." A moment's silence fell before she looked at him again. "But it cheers my mood to hear this, Agravaine."

He smiled, proud of this small achievement.

"Go. Inform me no further, I'll know precisely when to strike."

Agravaine faltered. "Can I assist you in no other way? How will I know when to expect you, my lady—?"

"It is not _you_ who I intend to seek! _Go!_ I have no further need of you!"

"But Morgana—"

A black wall collided with him then, forcing him back through the door. Evil laughter followed. Cruel, clawing, deep, terrible laughter like nothing he'd ever heard before. There was no hesitation this time. He mounted his horse in a flurry of black cloak and rode off without so much as a single glance backward.

Morgana stooped back over her work bench. "How close is it, really?"

"_The potions will buy precious days, at most. The time to strike Emrys down is coming very soon."_

The demon laughed, and Morgana Pendragon joined it with nearly as malicious a voice.

* * *

><p>The past several days had been too quiet for Arthur's liking. Quiet and boring. Merlin's worries for Arthur's continued sanity in the absence of his little banter-buddy had apparently been justified, and now the prince was headed to Merlin's chambers to make certain the annoying idiot would be back soon to play target for his goblets and pillows and spinning insults, and likewise an instigator of cheek, negligence, and generally disruptive and completely unlawful behaviour.<p>

He raised a fist to knock, and then simply pushed open the door. A sour, musty smell greeted him.

"Merlin? Are you awake?"

"Yeah." The returning voice was hoarse and weak. Arthur's hopes began to dwindle.

He made his way across the oddly organized room, up the few steps to Merlin's door, and opened it slowly. The dim light from the small window was all he needed to see that things were nowhere near as improved as he'd hoped.

Merlin was curled up at the edge of his bed, blankets twisted around his legs. A chamber pot was positioned just below him, and from the smell of the room it was in dire need of emptying. An untouched plate of breakfast sat on a side table, along with the bottles of potions which, thankfully, looked to have been used regularly enough.

If it were possible, his servant looked worse than he had before. His skin had a tinge of grey to it, his lips almost blue, and stretched taut over the bones of his face like a dry corpse. His eyes and hair were dull and colourless. He was shivering, one skeletal hand groping at nothing.

"Merlin..."

He didn't know what else to say. His servant shuddered and struggled to sit upright, and Arthur could swear he heard the young man's bones grinding together.

"How..." Arthur swallowed, knowing the question was an absolutely daft one. "How do you feel?"

Merlin hunched, his shirt falling off of one shoulder. The bony points and hollows and tight, struggling skin made Arthur feel ill. But Merlin, that idiot, was _smiling_.

"Better," he said. "No, really! The headache's gone. I'm sleeping well now."

_Because you haven't the strength to do anything else_, Arthur boggled. "You think the potions are working then?" He eyed the plate on the table. "You're still not eating."

"I am. I'm trying. My stomach's just not cooperating yet. Just need something simpler, I think. It'll take time."

_You don't have time_. Arthur shook his head. "Try harder. And... take whatever time off you need."

Merlin lowered himself back to the bed. "I should be back in a few days I think."

"You're joking."

"No! I feel a lot better, honestly. I feel great, really. The potions worked."

Arthur scoffed and got to his feet. "Just... take it easy, would you? I'm not about to swing swords at you when it looks like a light breeze could send you flying off back to Ealdor."

Merlin laughed, and then grew quiet as he was taken by sleep.

Arthur might have left then, but a fear kept him standing there in that small, stuffy room until Gwaine showed up to take the next vigil. They exchanged a similar expression of alarm, and as Arthur left, his heart twisting, he found himself missing Gaius, that dependable old ally, more than he'd missed any person in a very long time.


	15. Chapter 15

**Aaaaaaaaaagh! I know I know I know, it's been a ridiculously long time. But the reason, as is the case for many here, was school-related. I was working on my final thesis and have now officially graduated. Merlin the show is over, but this fic will continue! Once again, thank you to everyone who reviewed, your comments are always lovely and inspiring. With luck, some of you are still out there and will remember what was going on.**

**I've also started a second fic, "Harbour", which is a multi-crossover story. Kind of a mix of horror and fantasy and survival adventure. It will most assuredly contain Merlin characters! If you also like Avengers, Criminal Minds, Sherlock, Star Trek, or seeing a bunch of characters from different universes trying to survive each other, do check it out.**

**OKAY LET'S GET BACK TO IT.**

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><p>He was dreaming of screaming specters and wyverns circling in the sky when a light hit him square in the face. It might have been dragon's fire, or a torch held aloft to ward away the incoming skull-faced spirits, and Arthur flailed a moment against his attackers. That was until he saw in their place the stupidly-grinning—but all the same no less skull-faced—visage of his idiot manservant.<p>

"Merlin...?"

"Wakey-wakey, sire." The young man stepped away from the window and busied himself at the prince's desk, making an effort to organize some of the chaos. Arthur had to blink against the sudden confusion. Merlin wasn't supposed to be there. Why wasn't Merlin supposed to be there? Oh yes, because Merlin was _dying!_

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Merlin looked up, gaunt face white as snow except for the purple bruises surrounding his eyes. "Alphabetizing?" he chanced.

Arthur was out of bed much faster than usual. "You should be _resting_."

The servant's shoulders were trembling, as were his knees, though it was hard to tell under the baggy clothing. Merlin had always looked something of a scarecrow swimming in his oversized outfit, but this was ridiculous. How was he standing? Arthur stood just close enough to show that he was concerned, but apparently wasn't yet willing to physically move Merlin from the room. Without that threat, the skinny man just kept on with his morning duties.

"I'm tired of sitting in my room, Arthur," Merlin offered in a casual tone, as if the matter wasn't worth debating. "D'you want your breakfast now or when you see your father?"

It was becoming customary for Arthur to eat his breakfast with Uther. It was the only way they'd managed to get him to respond to the idea of eating. The momentary distraction worked and Arthur said "I'll have it with him, I suppose," before shaking his head and growling, "I mean, no, _Mer_lin—!"

"I'll let the kitchen know." Merlin lifted an overcoat from Arthur's chair. "Is this dirty?"

"It's fine. Let another servant worry about it. You look terrible, Merlin."

Merlin grinned at him. "And you look like a big... red-faced cabbage-head."

"I'm serious."

"Don't need to remind me." Merlin was enjoying the banter, though he couldn't ignore the somersaults his heart was doing. He was no longer feverish that he could tell, and his head felt marginally better. He'd woken from a deep sleep that morning feeling he wanted nothing more than to escape his bed and finally embrace this new life he'd chosen. But his breakfast had re-emerged on the stairs, much to the horror of two passing ladies, and he'd been feeling a strange sensation of pumping adrenaline and dizziness since then. He was wired and shivering, heart beating a mile a minute and his head floating somewhere in the rafters.

"Just give yourself a few more days, will you? Eat a few proper meals, and if you must leave your bed, then just go... sit in a field or something. _Stop that!_"

Arthur forced himself between Merlin and the pile of clothes his servant had started to pluck from the ground. Merlin rolled his eyes, and then dropped the garments, but not because he wanted to. A sudden dizzy spell took him and he slipped sideways. Arthur caught his arms and held him upright with sickening ease as the young man's head lolled and his eyelids flickered. He came around again almost at once.

"Arthur?" Merlin's legs were shaking so badly that the prince steered him into a chair. He flopped into it with a shudder as the trembling worsened.

The prince released an enormously exasperated sigh. "Do I need to call one of the knights to forcibly remove you from my chambers?"

Merlin's cracked lips spread into another smile. "The one time I'm eager to do my chores and you send me to bed."

"Can you walk?"

"Yeah, yeah," Merlin crawled to his feet and his knees looked on the verge of buckling. Arthur grabbed his arm again—that arm that was nothing but bone, no bigger around than his sword's hilt—but was shrugged off as his servant made a point of jogging the rest of the way.

The door closed and Arthur felt a shudder run through his own body.

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><p>By lunchtime, Arthur had managed to again focus his mind on ruling a kingdom and not worrying whether or not his servant was going to snap in two under the weight of his dirty laundry. He had assembled a simple luncheon with his knights and uncle outside on the lawns following an exhausting morning of meetings and hearings, and was now throwing suggestive glances in Gwen's direction whenever he was sure no one was looking.<p>

"More wine?" she asked, bending forward with a smile at an angle Arthur most definitely appreciated.

"Oh, absolutely."

"Say when, sire."

He smiled, hard-pressed to say anything to stop that wine from pouring. His gaze was fixed on her dark eyes and nothing could drag it away.

Until of course a gangly figure in blue and brown with a stupid red neckerchief burst into the background of his perfect vision, staggering from one building to another with a near full suit of armour in tow. Arthur closed his eyes with a slight groan as the wine goblet reached full capacity. Gwen gave a little chirp of "oh, apologies, your highness," thinking they were still entwined in a flirtatious game until she followed the prince's irritated stare. Her smile fell.

"He's _not!_"

"He is."

"What is he thinking?"

"He doesn't think. He was born with that unfortunate disability." Arthur pushed himself up from his chair, this whole exchange going unnoticed by the rowdy knights, though Agravaine now clearly had his eyes on them.

Seeing this, Gwen lowered her voice. "I'll go."

"No, no," Arthur waved her off, "This has become something of a quest now. Excuse me a moment, uncle."

"Of course, Arthur." Agravaine allowed one corner of his mouth to turn up in an interpretation of a smile.

Merlin was seated on a wooden bench in the middle of the armoury, scrubbing at Arthur's breastplate. His back to the door, he didn't know he was in very serious trouble until an angry throat cleared itself a few feet from his ear. He jumped, dropping the armour, and for a moment the prince thought surprising his servant was in fact in bad taste, as he looked likely to faint again, but against the odds Merlin managed to compose himself.

"Don't _do_ that!" He gasped, reaching for the fallen chest piece. "If this's dented it's your fault."

Arthur's face was stoic. "Oh, I'm so _very_ sorry for scaring you whilst you _disobeyed my direct orders_, Merlin."

Merlin chewed the corner of his cheek as he set back to his task. "It's all right. Just don't let it happen again."

"_Go home, you idiot!_"

Merlin opened his mouth to retaliate, but Arthur looked in no mood to argue. The prince gave him such a glaring that Merlin closed his jaw with a frown and held his tongue. When he bent to retrieve the armour, Arthur blocked his path, one arm outstretched and pointing like an impatient mother to the exit door. His foot tapped, lips pursed, eyes bugging. Merlin tried one more time to grab for a gauntlet but was met with an "_Ah-ah!_" and shrunk back again. As it happened, Merlin was more inclined to obey his mother than Arthur, and the routine worked. He shuffled out with his head bowed.

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><p>Miraculously, Arthur made it through the rest of the day seeing neither hide nor hair of his mutinous manservant. He decided he was deserving of a quiet dinner in his chambers, and had almost allowed for a small, self-assured smile to creep across his lips as he strode across the courtyard, waving merrily to passing knights and courtiers. He would eat, relax, and enjoy a well-deserved rest after a long day of councils, sparring, and chasing Merlin away like a broom-wielding cook keeping cats out of the kitchen.<p>

Yes. Things were finally starting to settle back into their proper place—_oh for the love of god, what is that halfwit doing now?_

Arthur stopped dead in his tracks, watching his servant's back as he trotted off down the street on a horse. He hadn't seen the prince. Arthur clenched his teeth, fighting the urge to ignore this final offense and let Merlin suffer the results of his own stupidity.

But Arthur wouldn't be Arthur if he could find it in himself to overlook danger, even if it did mean missing his supper.

He cursed, turning himself around and marching for the stables.

The sun was nearly finished setting by the time Arthur tracked Merlin's horse to one of the fields outside of Camelot. He had an inkling Merlin was heading in this direction and, sure enough, he saw Merlin's horse in the distance, grazing next to the tree under which Gaius's remains were buried. Immediately Arthur felt the anger flood out of him, replaced by guilt and desperation. He slowed his approach, and by the time the prince reached his servant's side, Merlin was watching him.

Arthur dismounted with a sigh. As much as he felt sorrow for Merlin's loss, he couldn't hide his exasperation.

"Do you have a death wish, Merlin?" It was mostly a jest, but he was truly beginning to wonder.

His manservant was kneeling in the grass, head lowered, whatever false energy he'd mustered earlier in the day long since spent. Arthur took a few steps closer.

"Merlin, what are you doing?"

"You told me to go sit in a field."

"_Mer_lin."

"All right, all right!" Merlin stood, unbalanced and shaky. "I'll go back. You didn't need to follow me—" His knees betrayed him, no longer able to hold the man's miniscule weight. Arthur wasn't quick enough to catch him this time, placing large hands on Merlin's back when he hit the ground. He recoiled at the feel of it.

"Are you _mad_, Merlin? Of course I had to follow you! Look—_look_ at yourself, there's nothing left! I can feel your every bone. You can't even stand! What am I to think when you worsen every day and make no effort to care for yourself?"

Merlin winced, the symbols burning worse than ever. "I took the potions, Arthur! I don't know what's wrong—!" It was a desperate claim at this point. He wanted to believe that this was just a curable sickness, but the burning of the wounds, the uselessness of the medicines, the blood...

"What is this? Merlin?" Arthur was staring at his hands in the low light. "I'm covered in—are you _bleeding?_"

The servant couldn't fight this time. Arthur grabbed his tunic. He smelled the blood, felt the damp sticky mess, there was no hiding it now, and Merlin was too exhausted to try. _Fine, Arthur. You win. Go ahead._ His belt was torn away and the tunic lifted. Merlin slipped from his clutches and sprawled on the ground, the prince's eyes widening in panic.

"What... have you done?" He asked in a whisper.

The skeleton-thin torso was covered in an assortment of strange curling symbols, blackened like brands, oozing with blood and infection. The rest of his skin was stark white and bloodless, his body wasted to the point of looking inhuman. A person could not be alive and look like this. This was not normal. This was grotesque.

This was the work of magic.


	16. Chapter 16

**I'M STILL HERE. Last time I updated I had just graduated. Well, since then I've moved to a brand new city far far away and have started a new job. I've settled in now and finally pumped myself up to keep going on these fics. Thanks again for all of the amazing reviews and follows and favourites! We're nearing the final showdown now. Once more into the fray!**

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><p>Arthur wanted answers.<p>

He wanted answers right then and there. He wanted these answers to explain to him in a brilliant, seamless, obvious way that Merlin was not to blame for whatever these evil symbols represented. Arthur had been desperately pained to see his personal servant and best friend reduced to a hopeless heap of rattling bones, and he wanted to make things right again. But he needed a quest, a sacred object, a tower to climb or a spell to be broken by the slaying of a terrible beast—

What he did _not_ need was to believe that Merlin was in any way responsible for what was happening here. Stupid, blundering, jabbering, loveable Merlin. No, it was nonsensical. This was obviously an attack; a scheme, a ploy to get at the throne by—rendering his manservant even more useless than usual?

Arthur wanted answers, prompt and precise.

Unfortunately, Merlin had almost immediately slipped into unconsciousness, and with Arthur standing alone in a field in the dark, crickets chirping the way they do for comedic effect, he realized that those answers would not be forthcoming.

And so Arthur tied the horses together. He gently replaced the bandages and scooped Merlin's bloodied, skeletal body from the grass. He carried him like a doll back to his own horse and found that lifting himself and a second body at once into the same saddle was far too sickeningly easy. The ride back was a blur, the prince's mind running circles around possibilities. Sorcery was evident, but the question was whether Merlin was an unwilling victim, or an active participant. He saw events with new clarity as he recalled them. Merlin refusing to show Arthur his sword wound. Merlin again overcome with a fit of panic when Hedwynn attempted to see the same. Why would Merlin not tell him of this blight unless he had something sinister to hide?

When Arthur released a sigh of defeat, he found himself standing outside of the physician's chambers. He supposed he must have knocked, because a moment later Hedwynn was opening the door, a supper plate in his hands and a look of befuddlement on his face to see the prince waiting there.

"Your highness, what—?" The man's eyes found Merlin, and the plate was hastily thrown onto a side table. Hedwynn swiped the crumbs from his hands and reached out to the unconscious servant. "Again, sire? Here, here, let me take him."

Arthur shook his head. "Show me where to place him."

"Ah, of course. Here, just here. What's happened? All of this blood—I thought it only a fever—"

Arthur once again placed the frail body onto a bed. The same bed as before. He shut his eyes with a sigh. How long now had Merlin been the focus of his worry? When would life finally return to normal? Whenever he found himself breathing a sigh of relief and settling back into his old routine, something worse would crop up and knock normality onto its clumsy head. Grief turned to illness, and now illness had turned into something dangerous. _Magical_.

"We were both deceived," Arthur muttered, turning away from the source of all his recent stress.

Not waiting for an explanation, Hedwynn went to his patient and stripped away the layers of bloody tunic and soiled bandages. When he reached the branded, seeping flesh, he froze. His eyes roved across the bony form, flitting then to the prince.

"It's magic, yes?" Arthur asked, his back to the physician.

"The symbols do appear to be of magical origin, sire."

The prince nodded quietly. A few moments passed in tense silence before Arthur spoke again, his voice flat.

"Do you know what they mean?"

"I can't say that I do, sire." Hedwynn heard the prince release another frustrated sigh and quickly added "but I will do my best to find the answer."

"Please do." With that, Arthur headed to the door.

Hedwynn hesitated. "The young man may not survive long enough for an answer to be found, your highness."

The prince faltered before he could flee. He turned back to the physician, Merlin's white and red form worryingly still behind him. He felt angry. His long painful history with magic always resulted in an involuntary rage when the subject surfaced. But was this really Merlin's fault? His servant had been at his side through all of his trials. He'd seen the dangers of magic. All of his recent suffering was a bi-product of sorcery. No, Merlin had nothing to do with this. He was a _victim_. He was _hurting_. More than likely he'd been enchanted as a means of getting to Arthur. That Arthur was still safe and whole was a testament to how loyal his servant truly was. Perhaps Merlin's current state was a result of how hard he'd been fighting against it.

"Please do what you can to save him first," Arthur ordered. "Call me at once if there are any changes."

"Of course, sire."

"And Hedwynn," once more the prince delayed his exit.

"Sire?"

"He is not to leave this room."

The door closed and Hedwynn took a few cautious steps forward. Once he was certain he'd been left alone, the physician jogged the rest of the way and locked the door, then rushed to the boy's bedside to further scrutinize the brands . It was a difficult sight to behold. The magic symbols were black and bleeding, the boy's delicate ribcage so close to the surface that bone was visible here and there within the wounds. As Arthur had himself concluded, this young man should not still be alive. And if he were any other ordinary person, he wouldn't be.

"But my goodness, you are far from ordinary, aren't you, my boy?"

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><p>Merlin was in the middle of a huge field. He stood atop a hill. For as far as he could see, there was nothing but grass. No forests, no rivers, no cities. It was quiet. The sky was grey, the same as the grass. In fact, the longer he looked, the less he could tell any difference between the two.<p>

"Hello?"

His voice was caught by the air and swallowed. Merlin stepped back and was met with cold fingers, laughter, pain. He swiveled, seeing nothing but more of the endless expanse. A chill ran down his spine. Somewhere out in the grass a figure was walking in and out of space, like a body made of reflecting glass.

"_Where do you go from here?"_

The voice was a cruel hiss and Merlin's head throbbed at the sound of it. Lightning flashed in the thick clouds above, and again within the long grass below. Thunder rolled somewhere between.

"Who are you? Where are you?"

"_He knows. He knows he knows. He knows the truth, Emrys. Arthur's seen what you've done."_

Merlin stumbled down the hill, wary of the two-sided storm. "I did it to protect him! To protect everyone! My magic was going to hurt people!"

More laughter surrounded him. The ground began to vibrate beneath his feet and Merlin stumbled. The brands across his torso flared with agony. He ran. There was nowhere to go, but he ran all the same.

"_What is your destiny, Emrys? To sacrifice yourself for the greater good? Tasked with the grand responsibility of _not_ using your magic? What a little fool you are."_

The shaking of the earth intensified. His legs gave out beneath him and Merlin clung desperately to the grass as cracks formed in the ground ahead of him.

"I didn't know what to do. Everything was going wrong," he sobbed. "My magic's only ever made things worse."

"_Pain and despair. Emrys, the harbinger of death!"_

"No, I didn't mean to hurt anyone! I meant to _protect_ them!"

The earth split in an instant, sharp crack piercing his eardrums. One half of the field sunk away, the space between nothing but a black void. He could hear the screams of the dead coming from within it.

"_You failed them. _You_ killed them."_

"No..."

The voices rose up from the depth. Gaius, Lancelot, Balinor, Freya, Will, screaming to him. Their cries were filled with anguish.

"_You belong down there with them. The great Emrys saves none that he loves. Your power is wasted!"_

Merlin shook his head weakly. One of his white hands crept forward, clawing for the edge of the precipice.

"_Throw yourself into the abyss! Spare yourself the grief that is still yet to come."_

He pulled himself along the dying grass, feeling his open wounds and wasted body drag across rock and bone and teeth and claws. He stared down into the darkness that called to him.

"Emrys."

Merlin tensed. This voice was new. Warm. Comforting.

"Emrys, come back. It isn't time. Come back, Emrys."

"_Failure. Murderer. Pathetic waste of power."_

Merlin felt the cold rush of air against his tear-stained face.

"We need you, Emrys."

His heart rolled over, his stomach clenched.

"_The worst is still to come."_

"Arthur still needs you, Emrys."

Merlin looked up as the warm voice sent some of the cold screams away. "Arthur?"

"Yes, Emrys. Your destiny still waits. Come back. Merlin, come back."

An evil black shape of monstrous size, too many limbs, teeth, claws, red eyes that burned, flew at him suddenly, its howl worse than any Dorocha. Merlin shielded himself, his own cry drowned out by the horrible thing's wailing. All at once, warm hands enveloped his fragile body, pulling him up and off of the cliff and out of the way of the charging demon. The voices of the dead flew upward to join the howl of the creature in an unholy chorus of wretched, sickening sound.

"_WE'RE COMING, EMRYS. THE END IS COMING STILL."_

The grey world faded with a hiss and Merlin opened his eyes to warm yellow light.

* * *

><p>"Shhh, you're safe now."<p>

The young warlock had come out of the dream with a start, his arms still held up in front of his face to ward off the demon's attack. He lowered them slowly, revealing Hedwynn's gently smiling face.

"That was very close, Emrys. Camelot nearly lost its greatest hope."

It took Merlin a few groggy moments to realize where he was, and what this man had just called him. His body was suddenly very tense, blue eyes wide with uncertainty.

"E-Emrys?" he chanced ignorance, but Hedwynn's smile only grew.

"It's all right, my boy. We're alone, and you're safe."

"Who are you?" Merlin's voice was strangled and hoarse. The physician quickly grabbed a cup of water and helped sit him up to drink it.

"My name is the same," the man said, "as are my qualifications. Though I fibbed a little where my training was concerned." He eased Merlin back onto a pillow when the young man sputtered. "I'm a druid healer. And it looks like my brothers and sisters were right in sending me here to help you."

Merlin winced, feeling exposed and ashamed. His chest was uncovered, the brands out in the open. His body told a gruesome story of a life full of trials, most horrible having taken place in the past couple months. He was so tired now. He had no strength left. His story had to be almost over.

"What can you do? I already did what I had to. I had the fortune-teller take my magic away before it was too late... She told me what would happen if I kept it."

Hedwynn looked puzzled at this. "Fortune-teller? What did she tell you?"

"She said my magic was destined to turn dark. I would betray Arthur and my friends if I kept it. I had to act, I had to stop it before anyone else was hurt!"

The healer placed a steadying hand on Merlin's shoulder as the boy attempted to sit up. "I'm sorry, Emrys. I'm sorry but... you were deceived. This fortune-teller wasn't who they said they were."

"But she knew all about me..."

"We have sensed a new evil walking about the earth. A dark and ancient entity."

Merlin held his breath. "No, it was just a woman. She gave me tea—"

"A demon is capable of taking many forms. Most naturally it cloaks itself in the guise of mercy."

"A _demon?_" His heart skipped a beat. He felt suddenly nauseous at the realization of what he'd done. His magic was gone. Gone. Gone _forever_. He had no way of protecting Arthur now. He was completely useless. _And the worst was still to come_. His destiny was destroyed. He'd ruined everything! Camelot would fall and it would be his fault! He'd doomed _everyone!_

"Breathe, Emrys!"

Merlin was at the side of the bed, hyperventilating and retching. Hedwynn crossed in front of him.

"It's ruined. Everything's ruined! I've killed them! Oh _god_—"

"Calm down. Merlin, you need to calm yourself."

"Arthur's right. I'm such an _idiot!_"

"No, no, my boy you couldn't have known," Hedwynn took Merlin's chin in his hands. "And we can help you, but we must act quickly."

"How? How, what do I do? Tell me what to do!" Merlin was up out of the bed and immediately collapsing to the floor. Hedwynn collected him up again, wincing at the insubstantial weight and protruding bones. He deposited Merlin back onto the bed and held him there.

"You can help Arthur and Camelot, Merlin, but not by fighting. The Nefnecræft is a powerful tool for binding magic. On myself or any other sorcerer, the result would simply be an inability to wield magic again. On someone like you—on any magical creature—the Stone of Binding means death. Magic is your life force, Emrys, and without it you wither and die. That you happened to be such a powerful warlock is the only reason you are still breathing."

"So... I'm going to die?"

Hedwynn gave him a sad smile. "No. No, I think my people can reverse the enchantment. But first we must stop this demonic creature and its master from achieving their goals."

"How?" Merlin raised an eyebrow. "How can I help if I can't fight?"

Hedwynn's response was immediate. "Tell Arthur the truth."

"_What?_"

"Tell Arthur who you are. How you've protected him all of these years. It's the prince's turn to protect _you_ now, Merlin. _He_ must face this enemy."

"Are you crazy? He'll have me killed! And—and if he doesn't, Uther will. _Someone_ will!"

Hedwynn shook his head. "There was always going to come a time when you would have to tell him, Emrys. I believe now is this time."

"You _believe?_"

"You must trust me, Emrys."

"I trusted the fortune-teller. Look where that got me! And what is Arthur supposed to do against a demon anyway?"

Hedwynn remained calm, his round face never showing any sign of anger or uncertainty. "Demons are bound by old laws. Its master is in as much danger as Arthur. Arthur is a good man. A righteous man. I believe he could stand against it." He paused, watching Merlin's sallow face as the warlock took everything in. "You know in your heart that what I say is true, Emrys."

Merlin lifted his gaze, weak and tired and weighed down with all the worries of the world.

"You must tell him. Tell Arthur the truth."


	17. Chapter 17

**We really ought to stop referring to these as "Author's Notes" and just admit that this is where you can read the obligatory "Author's Apology and Bad Excuse". Well, I suppose working long hours at a new job is a fairly good excuse, but there's definitely an aspect of "buhhhhh I 'on't wannaaaaa..." in there. In any case! I have not abandoned this story, and am determined to see it through to the end. So with luck these updates, however spread out, are still working toward some manageable goal and are hopefully at least marginally entertaining.**

**Also can I just say that the Merlin fandom is _a-maz-ing?_ I love that it's still so strong and I'm still seeing so many new and creative stories and readers reviewing. You guys rock! Thanks again for all of your encouragement and lovely reviews and compliments and ponderings of things to come. Always delights me to read them!**

**Back to it!**

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><p>Tell Arthur the truth. Tell him the truth. Tell him... the <em>truth<em>.

Naturally, Merlin was in the midst of forming an elaborate lie.

Hedwynn had sent a servant with word to Arthur that Merlin was awake and stable. Each moment that had passed since had felt like the swift, cold countdown to his execution. Arthur would ask about the brands, naturally. Merlin had to give him an answer. And despite having rehearsed this exact scenario so many times in his mind over the past several years, despite his attempts to formulate plans and back-up plans and plans to back-up the back-up plans, despite every magical being knowing about and believing in Emrys and Arthur and their great and indisputable destiny, Merlin could not, no matter how frantically he scrambled through years of preparedness, find the words now.

It would be so easy to make something up. He was so good at it. Merlin had been doing it for years and Arthur was just the sort of noble, trusting, merciful cabbage-head to believe him.

But did that make it okay, or even worse?

Merlin groaned, grabbing at his throbbing head. The physician scurried over to his bed as a knock sounded on the door. His heart froze.

"I can't do this."

"You'll find the words."

"He's going to chop my head off."

Hedwynn squeezed the boy's shoulder and made his way to the door. "That would make for a rather uninspiring end to the prophecies." The latch clicked and the door squeaked. "Ah, Prince Arthur, please come in."

Merlin kept his head down. He couldn't bring himself to look Arthur in the eyes. It would be so easy... so easy to tell him a different story. An encounter in the woods with a mysterious beast—one that was now so difficult to recollect; perhaps it had been toying with his memories? Yes, can't even remember what it looked like...

"You really are starting to make a habit of this," Arthur said. Merlin knew there was a frown on his face, but there was a smile in his words. That was a good sign, wasn't it?

Or maybe, something had happened in Ealdor. He'd already lied about the magic he'd used to heal Gwaine. Someone else had already taken the blame. That someone else was now dead. There were no loose ends. Yes, Liaddus had enchanted him to get to Arthur. It would work. It was so _easy_.

"I'm beginning to think you're just doing this to get out of work." Merlin could hear a tension in the prince's voice now. He was uncomfortable with these sorts of intimate situations. Situations where he had to make it evident that Merlin was someone he cared about. Would that really change if he knew the truth?

Ignorance. Complete ignorance. It would be easy to feign. So easy. He had no idea what the brands were. These terrifying symbols—where had they come from? Oh no, they were making him sick! If only someone could help. Maybe the druids? Maybe...

"Merlin?"

Arthur waited. Hedwynn excused himself. Merlin bit his lip and took in a quavering breath.

Terrified blue eyes lifted to see the prince standing there, looking concerned and scared but always brave. The prince of Camelot. The Once and Future King. Arthur. His friend.

Merlin's face drained of what little colour was left and the lies flooded out of his head.

"Arthur..."

Once he opened his mouth he knew there was no turning back.

Merlin told the prince everything.

* * *

><p>Arthur's face had been passive at first. The honesty in Merlin's words and the terror in his eyes had kept him from smiling at what had to have been one of his servant's worst jokes to date. Merlin, a <em>sorcerer?<em> No—a _warlock_. He'd never even heard of such a thing. A man born with magic? That was absurd. And the punchline was even worse. The most powerful sorcerer to ever live, tasked with fulfilling some mystical destiny. Arthur's destiny. The man was clearly delirious. Where was Hedwynn?

Arthur's face had turned sour when Merlin began to detail specific accounts of times he'd used his magic to save the prince. Too specific for a man in a state of feverish hallucination. Too afraid. Too desperate. Merlin's voice quavered with more than just exhaustion. These were the words of a man baring all. Baring a terrible and damning secret. These were the words of a man facing his demons after too long a lifetime spent running in fear.

Arthur's face wrinkled with a mix of concentration and indignation when Merlin's story turned to the existence of actual demons. This was following the truth behind Gwaine's miraculous recovery. An evil entity disguised as an old fortune-teller, a distraught and guilt-ridden warlock. An easy fix. Arthur's mind had been racing at that point; filling in the gaps as quickly as Merlin's tale spilled from his lips. Secrets, lies, dragon lords, close-calls, and death, death, death—sudden realizations of the stomach-turning truths surrounding all of it.

Arthur's face was unreadable when Merlin finished. The servant's face was streaked with tears. His body shook with the sheer effort that the confession had taken. The dark-haired young man stared at his master with an urgent energy, waiting for the axe to fall. Waiting for what was sure to be anger, hate, shouting, cursing—a raging discourse that would lead to his inevitable dismissal as servant, citizen, counsellor... _friend_. Merlin's adam's apple bobbed and his wasted muscles tensed.

_Do it. Do it, Arthur. I can't take another second of this._

Arthur stood, silent and stern. Merlin stilled his shaking, frozen in place.

And he watched the prince leave the physician's chambers without a word.

* * *

><p>Arthur remained silent on his trek back through the palace corridors. If the shadows and figures and collaged, frivolous faces had waved cheerful regards in his direction, they'd gone unnoticed. The prince felt as though he were in a dream. He wished it were a dream. Magic. <em>Magic<em>. Merlin. Never had the two felt even remotely connected in his perceptions of the world. He felt betrayed. Not just by Merlin, but also by the world itself. This wasn't how it was supposed to work. This wasn't the reality he'd chosen to accept. He felt a rebellious urge to deny this new world and reaffirm the old one. How dare the fates pull on him such a cruel trick. He was the crowned prince of Camelot! _He_ made the rules! Merlin was a dundering idiot. _I command you to go back to being nothing more historically important than the world's most useless manservant, _Mer_lin!_

Arthur crumpled into his chair, only somewhat alarmed to be back in his chambers. He wasn't prone to losing himself utterly to his thoughts. That was Merlin's job. And it was remedied most effectively by a goblet to the back of the head.

Goblet-to-the-back-of-the-head in human form suddenly appeared in front of him, causing Arthur to jump.

"Gwaine!" The prince blurted, but composed himself a second later, rubbing his temples and breathing an enormous sigh. "Does no one in this castle knock?"

"The door was open," Gwaine nodded to the hinged menace. "And something was clearly amiss, princess. You passed Gwen in the hall without a second of puppy-dog-eyes or that weird ducky thing you do with your lips—"

"Sir Gwaine..."

"You looked like you'd seen a ghost, mate."

Arthur frowned. He did not want to deal with any of this right now, much less in the presence of his sometimes drunken, always smart-alecky knight.

A second voice came from his other side. "What happened, Arthur?"

"_God!_" The startled prince finally saw Gwen standing there and got to his feet. "Look, I appreciate your concern. Truly. But I'd prefer to be alone, if you both don't mind."

"And if we do?" Gwaine raised a brow.

Gwen was a little more tactful. She approached Arthur and put her arm around his, feeling the abundant tension and wanting only to ease it. "We just want to help, Arthur. Please. Is it Merlin? Is he all right?"

At the mention of his servant's name, Arthur's expression shifted to one of intense defeat. Gwen brought a hand to her mouth, fearing the worst.

"Oh my god. He's not—!"

Arthur quickly shook his head, taking her hand and rubbing his thumb along the slim fingers. "No, he's all right. For now. I've just come from the physician's chambers. He's... I just... It's all so..." The prince pulled free of Gwen's hold and staggered back to his chair, a suspicious mist in his eyes. "It's complicated."

"Tell us, mate."

He might not have. He might have locked himself away and brooded over the whole ordeal. He might have liked to stew in his anger and confusion and guilt and distrust because, _damn_ it, he was the _victim_ here. Wasn't he? He was the one who had been blissfully living in ignorance. He was the one who had been tricked into trusting. Merlin had betrayed him! _Oh for god's sake_, it was spilling from his mouth before he could grab hold. Merlin had—Merlin has—

"Merlin has magic."

* * *

><p>He recounted Merlin's tale almost word-for-word with the stories still so fresh in his mind. It wasn't until he was finished and saw the same mixed expressions that the words hit him again. The same mix of butterflies and daggers swirled in his stomach.<p>

"Our Merlin?" Gwaine shook his head. He looked more impressed than angry and Arthur found it maddening.

The prince rounded on him. "Is a traitor. A liar! He's been practicing magic all these years behind our backs. Behind my back. In my father's palace!"

Both Gwen and Gwaine returned the accusation with looks of concern. This angered the prince even further. How could they not _see?_ This was the ultimate act of treason! And he'd called Merlin a friend, no less...

"I called him a friend!"

Gwaine's brows furrowed. "He used his magic to protect you all these years, even under the threat of Uther burning him at the stake, _because_ he's your friend, mate."

Arthur shook his head. Stop. _Stop it._ He had a right to be angry. _Stop it with your damn sense and reason._

"You said he was born with magic?" Gwen asked.

A non-committal nod.

"And he's used it for good—"

"Magic is not _good!_"

"He had his magic painfully removed because he feared it ever becoming evil, Arthur. He was so terrified of hurting you or anyone else that he did that to himself. Merlin is anything but evil. He's watched out for you at every turn!" Gwen took Arthur's chin and looked him in the eyes. The eyes were red. There was a battle raging behind them. For a moment, the knight inside faltered.

Arthur choked back a sob. "He's dying."

Gwen's lips curled downward as she too fought back tears at seeing her stoic prince so emotionally conflicted. She pulled him into a hug.

"And you'll save him."

Arthur pulled away, face back to its state of calm indifference. _Save_ him? By law he was now supposed to _kill_ him. If Uther found out, Arthur was sure within minutes his father would shirk his catatonia, find the nearest torch, and summon an angry mob where he stood. "I need to think this over," he said, voice now devoid of affectivity. "I thank you both for lending me your ears."

He stood, which was a courteous means of telling his friends to leave. Gwen and Gwaine took the hint and rose to exit the prince's chambers. At the door, Gwen grasped the wall and glanced back.

"I know you'll make the right decision."

It was both a loving encouragement and a explicit warning and it agitated his butterflies all the more.

* * *

><p>Laughter. Laughter. Crazed, sadistic, malicious—Ha-ha! Ha ha ha ha!—No, no, no, no, what is it? <em>Who's there?<em> Won't it cease? Will it never stop!?

Morgana laughed back, her voice cracked and shrill and tinged with madness. The room was dark, or maybe bright, but she could never tell now. The darkness penetrated everything. Her mind was shadows. The world was shrouded. And the laughter. Oh how they _laughed!_ Hysterical and jovial and sad. Only in hell could lost souls travel rivers of torment and emerge again on shores of fire _laughing_. Laughing in eternal anguish.

Morgana's overgrown fingernails had raked bloody trenches in her temples, flowing their own little rivers of torment. Soon. Revenge would come soon. Emrys would die and Camelot would be hers and the end—it would be the end she wanted. The end. Soon. Soon it would _end_.

"_Yes, Morgana Pendragon."_

The mad witch glanced up at what might have been the ceiling. "Demon! _Slave!_ Is it time? Please, tell me it's time! I've waited long enough!"

"_It is time. Ride to Camelot. Emrys waits, powerless and abandoned."_

"Ha! _Yes!_ Ha-ha-ha ha haa!" Morgana shrieked as her vision cleared and she made for the door.

"_It will all be yours, Morgana."_

"Mine," she grinned, eyes wild. She found a black horse in a clearing and spent not a second questioning how it came to be there. "Camelot!" she demanded of the sleek creature. "Ride for Camelot!"

The laughter followed her through the trees and swirled high on the cold night air.

"_And all the power of hell shall follow at your back."_


End file.
